Love & Malice (formerly Twists of Fate)
by CharlieBZ
Summary: With Selina Kyle by his side, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham to fulfill his family's legacy. After a brutal crime, he learns that Selina's ghosts can no longer be ignored and he must investigate her mysterious past. Rated T for now but later chapters will turn very dark
1. Prologue

A/N: Just a warning that if you're looking for Batman and Catwoman you won't find them in this story. I understand the comics have different approaches to Selina's backstory but it doesn't seem like there's a definitive history so I feel I can play away! All ideas are inspired by the Nolan movies. Thank you for reading!

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**Prologue**

"You know, Bruce," Selina said, taking his hand as she stepped out of the black Mercedes. "I believe this is the first time I've come to one of these things through the front door."

"We could scale the wall and enter through one of the attic rooms if that'll make you more comfortable." Bruce's arm tightened around her waist as if to ward off the icy bite of the December night air.

"And deprive that poor freezing man the opportunity do his job?" She nodded toward the extravagantly uniformed man that had just opened the heavy front door to the Wackford-Squeers mansion. "He's probably grateful for the brief movement!"

They walked quickly toward the inviting warmth the open door promised. Bruce indicated his thanks with a slight nod to the doorman whose face was bright red from the cold wind. He sensed Selina's irritation at paying a guy to stand in the cold just to open doors but she squeezed his arm to let him know she wasn't _that_ irritated.

Once inside the brightly lit entrance hall, they were greeted by a large, balding man impeccably decked out in an understated tuxedo. The man looked as imposing as ever, better suited for dock work than butler work but Bruce remembered his kindness and sympathy when he had visited the family as a teenager.

"Mr. Sikes, right?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Wayne." Sikes smiled, pleased at being remembered. "It's very good to see you again." His eyes passed quickly to Selina acknowledging her presence yet not expecting an introduction. "Lydia will take your coats, if you please." He gestured toward a maid who had quietly approached. "The guests are gathered on the second floor ballroom. I trust you remember the way, sir?"

"I do, thank you." Bruce turned to help Selina out of her black overcoat and sighed at what he saw underneath.

Her dress was a floor length gown that clung to her body elegantly accentuating her curves. The deep, dark purple fabric was deceptively sheer except for artfully arranged floral designs that hid the more intimate parts of her body. He speculated that a simple tug of the thin straps that held it up would result in the entire thing gracefully slipping down her naked form to pool in small bundle about her high heeled shoes.

His gaze met hers, her eyes filled with amusement and anticipation. She smiled back at him as she walked toward the broad staircase, her heels clicking authoritatively against the black and white checkered floor.

He glanced back to gauge the reaction of the straight laced butler. The cold look he saw in the man's eyes startled him but, in an instant, the disturbing gleam vanished replaced by the blank gaze that was expected of good servants. Bruce inwardly sighed; it was going to be a long night.

"That's quite a dress," he commented, following her up the stairs.

She ascended a few steps ahead of him so he could get a good look at the deep cut of the back and the way the dress moved across her bottom.

"Do you like it?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling with flirty promise, her hands smoothing over her hips, drawing his eyes back to her body. "I wanted to make a good impression for your friends."

At the top of the staircase, she paused to wait for him. When he reached her, he leaned over to whisper in her ear: "They'll especially love the peanut butter."

The playful, sultry attitude vanished instantly as she twisted around to see her backside.

"Dammit! I thought I got it all." She licked her fingers, dabbing at the spot uncaring to the maid and butler watching from below. "Why couldn't it have been the grape jelly? At least it would have matched."

They shared an amused glance as she finished cleaning the spot. "Better?"

He nodded and took her hand, kissing it lightly before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

It was a few days after Christmas; strings of white lights mixed with evergreen branches lined the walls of the expansive hallway. They walked unhurriedly toward the ballroom, stopping at the entrance for a brief moment as Bruce surveyed the room seeing many faces that were vaguely familiar. It was his first time to attend a social event as just Bruce Wayne and not spoiled playboy Bruce Wayne. He glanced down at Selina by his side looking lovely and elegant, very pleased he didn't have to cater to any charades.

"I'm glad you came, Selina," he said quietly as they walked inside.

"I suppose it's the least I could do seeing that this is a big deal for someone you actually like and admire. And, I would hate for these people to think you can't get a date."

"Ah, Bruce, here you are!" Their hostess, Miriam Wackford-Squeers, excitedly beckoned Bruce to her. On the other side of seventy, she looked at least ten years younger. As with most of her set, she paid much to stave off the appearance of age. She kissed both of Bruce's cheeks before settling back to give him a fond look. "We are all so glad you're not dead! Again! You are like Lazarus!"

"Or a zombie." Selina added, her voice affecting an innocent tone.

Miriam looked surprised to be addressed by the stranger on Bruce's arm.

"Miriam," Bruce said, "this is Selina."

"Hello." Miriam's tone became frostier, unaccustomed to being introduced to one of Bruce Wayne's women. "What a lovely dress, my dear."

"Thank you. And may I say that your necklace is beautiful."

"You may. It's been in the family for generations," she said dismissively before turning her attention back to Bruce. "It really is so good to see you, Bruce. Daniel said you were coming but I didn't believe him."

"I couldn't refuse his personal invitation."

"Oh, so that's what it takes to get you out of Wayne Enterprises these days. He'll have to issue more 'personal' invitations."

She chattered on eager to relay bits of gossip she felt he would find interesting. Bruce listened politely as she informed him of the latest happenings in the family. Selina's interest in the conversation was nonexistent but Miriam spared nary a glance in her direction and wouldn't know or care what kept the younger woman's attention. When Miriam informed Bruce that her dear daughter, "you remember Catherine, of course", had recently divorced, Selina squeezed his arm before drifting away in the direction of the buffet.

Miriam seemed oblivious to her absence. "You must look up Catherine. Find the senator and you'll find her. Have you met Senator Brass, yet? He is presenting the award to Daniel. The President was supposed to, you know, but some tragedy somewhere kept him from attending." She sounded peeved that national affairs took precedence over her party. Bruce pushed his judgment aside reminding himself that this woman had been a good friend of his mother's.

"It is quite an honor he's receiving, Miriam." Bruce said as he looked around the ballroom trying to find their host. "My father would have been pleased for Daniel."

"He would, wouldn't he? I'm impressed, Bruce. Here you are honoring one of Thomas' friends. It's a good thing to see." Her look to Bruce was assessing but there was a spark of pride in her gaze until her attention was diverted by the arrival of another guest. "Please, excuse me. I must play hostess!" She put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "We really are happy to see you, Bruce."

He found Selina across the room, looking bored, sipping champagne, and pointedly ignoring the younger man who hovered nervously at her side. As he wound his way through the crowd to her, he was repeatedly greeted by casual acquaintances but was able to swiftly yet courteously extricate himself from unwanted conversations. He saw Selina watch him work his way to her, amused at the laborious process.

"You do that very well," she commented when he finally reached her. "Do they teach the art of blowing off people but not seeming to at those fancy schools?"

"First lesson ever." He took a champagne glass from the waiter passing by, more for something to hold than to drink. Selina downed the last of hers before taking another glass.

"I'm a little disappointed in the so-called open bar," she said with a little sigh. "It's only wine or champagne. I had high expectations for expensive whiskey or some fancy concoction that only the very rich know about. Don't people ever get stupidly drunk at these things?"

"It's bad form to get drunk at 'these things'. There's a senator here." He pointed to the man holding court on the other side of the room.

Selina did not look impressed. "Well, it's very different from the parties I'm used to. Lots of drinking, loud music, yelling, fights, setting furniture on fire... The police are almost always called."

"I doubt if the police have ever been on this street." Beauchamp Avenue was the most illustrious and exclusive street in central Gotham. The families with residences here were true American blue bloods tracing their heritage back to the Revolutionary war. The street was so exclusive that the newest resident, a respectable man whose family earned their fortune after the Civil War, was still regarded with wariness and he had purchased his Beauchamp home thirty years ago.

"Oh, I'm sure someone around here has called the cops. I seem to remember reading about a theft at the house across the street."

"These people don't call the cops, Selina. They have private security to handle that kind of thing. That theft you 'read' about was definitely not in the newspapers. You are confusing that theft with another in a different neighborhood. You might want to keep all that straight."

"They never call the cops? That would have been helpful information a few years ago." She looked around the room speculatively like she had just been given free rein in a toy store. Remembering who she was with, Selina composed herself giving him an apologetic look. "I'm not going to steal anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"I wasn't. There's no place to hide anything in that dress."

"Oh, sweetie," she cooed turning her body so her breasts brushed against his arm. "I thought you were more imaginative than that."

He smiled, enjoying her. "Every man and some women can't stop looking at you."

"Tactics, Bruce. I'd rather some of these people not look at my face too closely."

"Oh."

"Besides, they're looking at you. Me, they are dismissing as one of your many, many floozies. I understand you had quite a reputation concerning your dates."

"Tactics, Selina."

"Who have you been taking to these parties?"

"Models, actresses, dancers…" He looked down at her unable to remember the face of a single one of them.

"Poor baby," she crooned softly. "What a tough, tough, tough cover. It must have been so hard."

He smiled. "It was. I can think of something else that-" he started before a waft of perfume invaded his senses and two gloved hands slipped over his eyes.

"Guess who?"

Bruce felt a pair of not-real breasts press into his back.

"Catherine." He was pleased he managed to sound happy it was her but he, most definitely, was not. As a teenager, he had spent a few holidays with the Wackford-Squeers family. Catherine, being of his general age, initiated some rather interesting teenage exploration escapades. Years later, after he returned to Gotham, and when she was married, she made no secret that she thought an illicit affair would be an interesting diversion for both of them. He didn't agree but to preserve his cavalier façade he offered the excuse about not wanting to upset her husband which was a little galling as she was married to a serial philanderer who was a coward in every manner possible.

And now she was single. She removed her hands and faced him. She looked much the same, a little harder around the edges, a lot bustier but still a very attractive woman. She also looked on the prowl.

"Bruce, darling," she crooned, kissing him lightly on the lips. "I understand you've been back for weeks and I've yet to receive a call. How unbearably rude of you."

"I've been busy at Wayne Enterprises."

"Don't you have people to do those kinds of things for you?"

"I do."

"Bruce, really, rising from the dead has made you so serious! I understand Gotham's favorite rogue is nothing but business these days. The gossips are dying for something juicy to say about you and you're giving them nary a morsel." Catherine turned her assessing gaze onto Selina, missing nothing about the younger woman's appearance. "He wasn't always this way, you know.

"What way?" Selina asked.

"So involved with…business things." She twined her arm in Bruce's. "Color us all shocked when you returned and, of all things, went to work."

He risked a glance at Selina who looked more than a little amused at his discomfort. He disentangled his arm from Catherine's in the politest way possible and stepped closer to Selina. "Catherine, this is Selina."

"Hello," Selina greeted with an obviously fake friendly tone.

"And where did he find you?" Catherine's gaze to Selina was filled with condescension.

"Around," Selina said, not at all bothered by Catherine's blatant snobbery.

"I'll bet." Catherine smiled insincerely before returning her predatory gaze to Bruce. "Daddy is delighted you came."

"I'm pleased to see your father receive such an honor." He felt like he had said the same thing to a hundred different people tonight. He sipped his champagne, remembering exactly why he hated these things. Selina proved no help, content to stand back and watch him squirm.

"So…" Catherine continued, she was either unaware or ignored his disinterest. "We're going to Aspen after the new year. Daddy bought a new cabin and we'd love to have you there. It'll be like old times. Remember how much fun we had? You should come."

He forced a light laugh. "I have plans. Where is your father?" He asked looking around wishing vehemently that she'd leave. "I've been wanting to say hello."

"Some important powwow before the award presentation. He'll be out for the senator's speech." She beckoned to another guest. "Bruce, have you met Congressman and Mrs. Gilly? Janice and I are great friends. We're both heavily involved with the Pets for the Poor project."

Mrs. Congressman took the opportunity to explain their charity but Bruce wasn't paying attention. Catherine and the Congressman's wife appeared oblivious to the tension in their little group. The Congressman stared at Selina in shock. Selina, for her part, gazed placidly at the Congressman.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" she asked, her face a picture of innocent curiosity.

"Uh…" he started, his face turning red.

"My husband is the Congressman from this district." Janice Gilly looked at Selina with amazement as if she couldn't comprehend someone not knowing her husband. "Surely you are aware of that?"

"Oh, no, I don't follow politics. I just thought I knew him from somewhere else."

Bruce had had enough. "Would you excuse us?"

He didn't wait for an answer not caring if their exit was too abrupt. He led Selina to the dance floor. Taking her champagne glass, he deposited both their glasses on a side table before taking her hand.

"What was that all about?" Bruce asked as he slipped his other hand against her naked back.

She shrugged, trying to show him the situation was not important. "He's under the impression that I kidnapped him."

"What?" He almost lost his step.

"A misunderstanding." She coolly scanned the crowd, before sheepishly meeting his eyes. "You didn't know about that?"

"No, I didn't." He saw the Congressman worriedly looking at her. Bruce hated the unease that crept over him. Before their return to Gotham, he had questioned her extensively asking if there was anyone - enemies, old boyfriends, angry marks – anyone that would object to her showing up again and pose a threat to them. She had assured him no and contrary to what he might think, she wasn't in the habit of making enemies. He wasn't buying it so she gave him a few names of people who might bear her ill will. After a few inquiries, Bruce decided the people were no threat and she had probably given him the names to pacify him. She definitely did not mention any elected officials. "Do we have a problem?"

"No." She said, looking contrite.

He waited for her to expound on the situation but, as expected, no additional explanation was forthcoming.

"Selina…" Bruce replied. "You have to tell me if this is going to be trouble."

"It's not. Really. He's just surprised and probably a little embarrassed." Her eyes met his. "Believe me, he doesn't want anyone to remember his little…vacation."

Bruce stared at her, mentally calculating how much he would have to donate to the Congressman's reelection campaign as well as Gilly's wife's ridiculous charitable cause.

"So," she said in a tone signaling a drastic change of subject. "If this area is so great, why don't you have a house here?"

"My family preferred country living."

"Country living? Is that what that's called? Maybe your ancestors realized they didn't want to live near a bunch of assholes." She looked around hoping no one overheard.

"Your disdain is showing, my dear."

"I know these Wacky people were kind to you when you were young but the rest of them make it so easy to hate them. They're so smug and humorless and full of themselves and…"

"We'll see Daniel, say our congratulations then leave."

"I'm sorry," she apologized looking contrite. "It's just these people were more interesting when I was trying to steal from them."

After dancing in silence for a few moments, Selina asked: "Do you like being here?" The careless way she said it was too careless.

"No. But I do like that dress." He pulled her closer, trying to distill the conflict that cropped up between them. His hand slid from her back to cup her bottom, pulling her closer against him.

"What are you doing?" She said in a mock shocked tone. "In front of all these fine Gotham socialites?"

"Checking for peanut butter."

"I bet this house has all kinds of interesting nooks and crannies." She whispered into his ear before lightly licking the spot on the back of his ear that was one of his weak points. She'd found them all but that was the one that was the most socially acceptable.

"It does but we'll miss the Senator's speech." He nodded in the direction of a raised platform where people were gathering.

"Oh, a speech! This really is the best kind of party isn't it?"

The music stopped and the clinking of a champagne flute signaled the commencement of the speeches. As he climbed to the dais, Daniel spotted Bruce and waved causing a number of people in the room to look his direction. Used to be the center of attention, Bruce nodded in acknowledgement and waited for the senator to begin the presentation.

As he listened to Senator Brass extol the virtues of Daniel Wackford-Squeers, he pushed aside the sadness that usually accompanied him when he visited his parents' friends. After their death, Daniel had reached out to him, periodically inviting him for holidays and family vacations. The family had meant well, but Bruce had always returned to Wayne Manor feeling more hollow than when he left.

But he was happy for his father's friend. As the senator droned on, Bruce couldn't resist indulging in a little 'what if' imagining his father accepting such an honor.

The clapping that erupted through the ballroom brought him back to reality. Daniel took center stage giving a short speech. As usual, his affability shone through. His speech was self-deprecating, charming, and funny in all the right places. As he concluded he looked directly at Bruce.

"Many of you know that Thomas Wayne and I practically grew up together. He, of course, decided to head west to Stanford then on to the Peace Corps where he met his lovely Martha. They were great friends of ours and always missed. But, happily, their son, Bruce, is here. We're all thrilled to have him back from the dead. Again."

A laugh went through the crowd. Bruce smiled good naturedly as Daniel approached him, shaking his hand vigorously.

"Even though I told Miriam you'd be here, I didn't believe it myself until I saw you. You look…different. Good."

"Thank you."

"Say, I want to talk to you about a deal I think you may be interested in. I'll have my man call yours to set something up. I think you'll be interested in what I have to propose."

"I look forward to hearing it. Daniel, I want you to meet someone." Bruce reached for Selina whom he thought was just behind him and was surprised to find her gone. He scanned the crowd searching for her. "She must have stepped out," he said, trying to quell his irritation.

"Too bad. I'm always interested to meet your young ladies," Daniel replied with a wink.

The senator approached them requesting an introduction to Bruce. Bruce politely greeted the politician while inwardly he fought his aggravation at Selina for disappearing. After an acceptable amount of time passed, Bruce excused himself to search for Selina who was nowhere in sight.

He found her just outside the ballroom.

"I'm ready to leave," she said as soon as she saw him. She looked distracted and agitated.

"Did something happen with the Congressman?" He looked back toward the ballroom worried that the politician would be a much bigger problem than he thought.

"I just remembered why I hate these people," she said, bitterly.

"That's a little harsh, Selina."

She raised a hand to her forehead. "I just got a really awful headache is all."

"What just happened?" Bruce's anger transformed to concern. There was a look in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

"Nothing!" She said, angrily. "Can we just go? Please?" Without waiting for him, she headed down the hall toward the staircase.

Bruce watched her walk away realizing that even though he had spent the last four years of his life with her, maybe he didn't know Selina Kyle at all.


	2. Alfred Frets

The afternoon sun shined brightly through the wall of massive windows bathing the spacious Gotham penthouse in a warm glow. The early spring day was the kind of day that signaled the end of winter and the beginning of a new cycle of life. It was the kind of day that was filled with promise and optimism.

Just not for the man who felt like his world would soon be crashing upon him.

Alfred Pennyworth fussed about the bright penthouse desperate to fill idle time that was good for absolutely nothing except forcing upon him ample opportunities to nurse his worries. Worries that increased each and every time he compulsively checked his watch.

He walked through the upper level of the penthouse pausing just outside the master bedroom which, despite the comfort of the bed and the fashionable furnishings, seemed to be shunned equally by both Master Bruce and Ms. Kyle. The bed had not been slept in. Again.

He shook his head and made his way to the lower level where his search for a task was rewarded when he found one of the cleaning staff scrubbing determinedly at the tricycle tire marks that marred the expensive Italian marble. Even as he instructed Shanti on the proper care of marble, he couldn't help glancing at his watch again.

_Well, the Thief has finally done it. Finally absconded with the thing the master loved most in this world._

His face must have betrayed his emotions as Shanti fearfully apologized in her stilted, heavily accented English. Alfred patted her shoulder assuring her she was doing fine. She smiled shyly, with only the slightest hint of hesitation and fear before returning to her task.

After checking the time again, he sighed, unhappiness sweeping over him. This wasn't what he wanted for Master Bruce, wasn't at all what he envisioned as he spent three years pondering the life Bruce would lead when he eventually returned to Gotham.

Alfred had scarcely recognized the man who returned after almost four years away. The Bruce Wayne that greeted him at the private airport on the outskirts of Gotham was vastly different in every respect from the man who had closeted himself away from the world pining for a fantasy life. Like the man who returned the first time, he was a man with a plan, not a plan of becoming a symbol to rid Gotham of crime and corruption but a plan to assume the Wayne mantle and live the life Thomas and Martha Wayne had once dreamed for their son.

Alfred could not deny his own happiness and pride at Bruce finally choosing to live up to his illustrious family's legacy. Ever since that night three years ago when Bruce had contacted him out of the blue, Alfred knew it was inevitable that Bruce Wayne would return to Gotham. How could he resist the pull of six generations of Waynes after the arrival of the newest one?

_"Alfred," Bruce greeted in a soft voice. "How are you?"_

_"Quite well, sir, despite my heart attack at the suddenness of your call. Don't worry, though, the paramedics will be arriving shortly."_

_Bruce laughed quietly then asked: "How is England?"_

_Alfred's racing heart calmed enough so he didn't have to work so hard at out sounding casual. He knew Bruce knew the truth of it but he liked to put on a show for his wayward ward. "Quite dreary really: cold and rainy. And how is wherever you are? Sunny and warm, I trust?"_

_"Cold and snowy," Bruce clarified speaking in the same soft tone. "Look, Alfred, sorry to spring this on you but I need to not be dead anymore."_

_"Oh?" Alfred sat down trying to contain his curiosity and concern. Batman had died a spectacular death and he was not interested in seeing him resurrected in any manner. "Ah, so you've heard Lucius triumphed over the fraud and had your fortune restored and now you mean to deny me of my inheritance?"_

_"Sorry to keep doing that to you," Bruce said quietly but not without humor and Alfred detected something very different and entirely foreign in his voice. "I want this taken care of with no fuss and no publicity, Alfred. Keep it very quiet."_

_"Are you returning to Gotham, sir?"_

_A slight hesitation then a soft, "No." _

_"Are you in trouble, sir?" _

_Bruce laughed, a sincere, heartfelt kind of laugh that Alfred hadn't heard from him. "Huge trouble, Alfred. Check your email."_

_The sender of the new email had a name that was such a jumble of letters and numbers that Alfred would have dismissed it as spam and deleted it without a second thought. There was no subject and no message just an attachment that, when opened, stunned him as little had before. _

_The sight of a well-swaddled baby held snugly in Bruce's arms shocked him even more than seeing not-dead him across the café in Florence last summer. Alfred's eyes watered and he had no words for what that picture communicated to him. They both were quiet; Alfred gazing at the picture that Bruce had just snapped and Bruce staring at the real thing. _

_"Her name is Helena," Bruce finally said and Alfred now understood that indefinable something that he heard in Bruce's voice: happiness. _

_"Well, this is unexpected," Alfred commented, still reeling and at a loss for words._

_"Tell me about it," Bruce replied and Alfred could hear the smile in his voice. _

_"How old is she?"_

_"Eight days. I'll send over the specifics so you can make sure everything is set for her."_

The orphan in Bruce wanted to leave nothing to chance in case the unthinkable happened. As soon as he hung up, Alfred called the elderly attorney who had served as a trusted advisor to the Wayne family since Bruce's grandfather's time. The retired lawyer contacted the firm that still bore his name and everything was set in motion. Trusts were formed, iron-clad wills cemented as well as a barrage of documents, forms and other miscellaneous paperwork ensuring that the newborn was now the indisputable heiress to the Wayne family fortune.

And no one found out about it. All papers that were filed with the courts were filed in the most wordy and boring fashion so that anyone with the slightest curiosity would blanch at having to wade through hundreds of pages of legal jargon. One of the senior partners accustomed to Wayne secrecy was dispatched to Russia to secure the necessary signatures and documentation. It was well over four months later when Alfred received a cursory call from the partner confirming that everything had been settled. Alfred later received a call from the nonagenarian attorney joking about the inheritance that seemed to keep slipping through his fingers. Alfred laughed along with the man delighted about the reason he was no longer a billionaire.

So instead of finding a little house in the English countryside and living the life of a retired gentleman as he once thought he might do, Alfred returned to Wayne Manor and bided his time until the not-so-young master returned to Gotham. He didn't mind though, his duties as caretaker kept him pleasantly busy. Most of the children appreciated the beautiful surroundings of their new home and Alfred enjoyed the vibrancy of their presence after so many years of silence and gloom. Some of the children with authority issues lashed out threatening to be a problem but they soon learned that the 'Old Man' was not one to be trifled with and gave the house the respect it deserved. The more difficult of the difficult were parceled to Blake whose kindness and patience only seemed to increase with the angriest of orphans. Blake was always a welcome visitor to the manor not only helping with the children but furtively sealing off all entrances to the underground caverns from the main house.

When Bruce's call finally came, seven months ago, Alfred happily turned over his manor responsibilities to his trusted assistant and returned to the Gotham penthouse to prepare for Bruce's arrival. While the penthouse did not have many fond memories for Alfred, the joy that Helena brought did much to dispel Alfred's initial trepidation over the living arrangements.

After they first arrived, Bruce spoke of finding a more suitable place with Ms. Kyle joking that they should just kick the orphans out of Wayne Manor but talk of new residences had vanished as well as the easy rapport that Alfred had observed between Master Wayne and Ms. Kyle. Or, as he was thinking of her lately, The Thief.

Alfred's gratitude to the woman who seemed to be the root of Bruce's newfound happiness shifted to suspicion. That distrust led him to take a closer look at what she did when Bruce wasn't around. Which was becoming more and more frequent.

Alfred had seen it before, how Bruce obsessively threw himself into something , his tunnel vision shielding him from unwanted truths. Yet, even as busy as he was at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce always made time for his daughter and, unless he was out of town, made sure he was with her for every breakfast and dinner, staying home until she went to bed then excusing himself to continue working in his office at home. Or, as he was more recently prone to doing, returning to Wayne Enterprises. There always seemed to be some project or an important transcontinental conference call pulling his attention from the woman who restlessly prowled the penthouse.

Something was going on with her, something that Bruce seemed unable or unwilling to face.

Three months ago, the first time Bruce travelled away on business, Selina had unexpectedly knocked on Alfred's door. Handing him a monitor, she told him she had a terrible migraine and was going to take something and would he mind listening just in case Helena woke up in the night? He hadn't minded in the slightest because, at that point, he couldn't imagine that the woman would sneak out of the penthouse and not return until the crack of dawn.

Two more nights of migraines, then she had Isha spend the night telling them she was visiting a friend. No other explanation was offered as she avoided Alfred's questioning gaze.

He didn't know how she was masking her absences from Bruce but when she returned from her twenty-four hour disappearance Alfred confronted her unable to stand the thought of her doing anything to cause Master Wayne pain.

"Are you gonna tell on me?" She asked in a manner that let him know she knew he wouldn't.

"I don't know what you're playing at but I needn't remind you who you're dealing with," Alfred said.

Her gaze remained steady and inscrutable. "Maybe he needs to remember who he's dealing with."

He wanted to rage at her, this slip of a woman who had too much power over Bruce and, consequently, over him. Why the man couldn't find a sweet, uncomplicated woman with no checkered past was beyond him.

His bluff was called; Alfred hadn't forgotten the last time he had delivered an unpleasant truth to Bruce and he had to be certain of the facts before he approached that territory again. So he waved off his cowardly behavior, telling himself that the master would soon discover her shenanigans on his own. Weeks passed and the only thing that changed was the ever widening distance between them.

It was a vicious circle that Alfred could no longer watch. The woman was making a fool of Bruce, he was sure of it, and that was, quite simply, unacceptable. So he hemmed and hawed, watching for the right opportunity which never seemed to present itself. Until Monday morning when Bruce said he was going to Washington, D.C. for a few days and Alfred knew he could keep quiet no longer.

"Can't you do your work from here?" Alfred asked as Bruce prepared for his trip.

"I could but I want to meet this investor in person." Bruce was far more cautious about who he did business with than he had in the past. Potential business allies and partners were subject to more vetting than top level CIA operatives. "I can't ignore the rumors about Mr. Gupta but –"

"But you are ignoring other matters, sir," Alfred interrupted.

"Such as?" Bruce looked confused and Alfred marveled that sometimes Bruce could be the dumbest genius he had ever met.

"Such as the woman who used to share your bed." Alfred's frustration caused him to be more blunt than he intended. He waved his hand as an apology.

"I know you don't like her, Alfred," Bruce replied, his tone one of exasperation mixed with a bit of warning. "What do you want me to do? Arrange a therapy session between you two?"

"No, sir. I want you to open your eyes." Alfred braced himself for the worst part absolutely hating having to be the bearer of ugly truths but he had a painful lesson on the price of evading them which is why he squared his shoulders and plunged on. "You both spent the last few years living the ideal life as besotted new parents, travelling the world. You know Selina the mother, the lover, the traveler, but what do you know about Selina Kyle of Gotham? The woman who once had an extensive criminal record?"

Bruce didn't answer so Alfred pressed on. "I want you to ask Ms. Kyle where she is spending her nights when you are away."

Bruce stared at him in shock before defensive anger settled over his features. "Where are you getting this? She wouldn't leave 'Lena. You're letting your dislike of her get the better of you."

"Isha spends a lot of nights here when you are away," Alfred replied. "The last time you were away, Ms. Kyle left every night you were gone and did not return until early in the morning."

Bruce turned away. "I'll deal with this when I get back on Thursday," he said, quietly.

Alfred handed him his garment bag. Without looking back at him, Bruce left but returned a few moments later to assure Alfred he wasn't angry with him. That was yesterday.

This morning, less than twenty-four hours after their discussion, Alfred had not been terribly surprised to see Bruce back at home. He carried Helena down the staircase, holding her upside down and tickling her like it was a normal morning. Alfred followed them to the kitchen where Bruce sat Helena on the expansive granite counter while he got her something to eat. The mood was light until Ms. Kyle walked in and though there was no outward change in Bruce's demeanor Alfred felt the mood shift instantly.

Selina was all smiles and kisses for Helena but neither Bruce nor Selina looked at each other once. They put on a good show for their daughter who, at three years of age, should be and was oblivious to parental strife.

When Bruce prepared to leave for the office, he carried Helena to the elevator for their customary goodbye routine then as she reached for her mother, Bruce and Selina's eyes met, Bruce's darkening as if facing a threat, a warning clear in his expression.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked Selina less than fifteen minutes later as she gathered Helena and Isha, ushering them to the elevator.

"Taking Isha home. Is that ok with you?" She looked tired and tense and Alfred realized she'd worn that same look for months. "We'll be back by naptime."

Naptime was hours ago and that look that he observed between Bruce and Selina haunted him. The expression on Bruce's face was one he hoped never to see again. He looked down at his watch and winced to see that it was now almost three.

Shanti appeared, shyly handing him the wastebasket from the master bedroom, averting her eyes. Inside was the shattered remains of Selina's cell phone. Alfred thought again of the hostile look that had passed between Bruce and Selina and wondered if the broken phone was a message from Ms. Kyle.

Shanti's eyes widened and with a respectful nod quickly disappeared. Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he turned to face Bruce whom he knew was approaching.

"Where's Selina?" Bruce asked tersely, the anger showing on his face the reason for Shanti's quick exit. He started up the staircase to Helena's room which, if she were here, is where she would be napping or playing at this time of day. "Her car's not downstairs."

"I don't know, sir," Alfred responded. "Helena's not here either."

That stopped Bruce. He turned to face Alfred giving him a grim look.

"They haven't been here all day. I spoke with Isha and she confirmed they dropped her off this morning around eight. I checked for accidents and there's nothing…" He shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture.

Bruce stared at him for a few moments, his deepening anger evident in the narrowing of his eyes. He reached for his phone.

"I've been calling but…" Alfred showed him the smashed phone.

Bruce sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I forgot about that."

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I did that," he responded quietly and Alfred wondered again what had happened the night before. Whatever it was, he feared it was bad enough that Bruce was under the impression Selina may have taken the child and left.

"For what it's worth, and I may not be Ms. Kyle's biggest supporter, she wouldn't just take her and leave you forever." Whatever Alfred felt for Ms. Kyle, he could not deny her consuming love for her daughter and, up to now, he never considered that she would do anything to remove the child from the love and safety of her father.

"Wouldn't she?" Bruce asked. "As you reminded me earlier, I really don't know anything about her other than she is a thief."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

The doorman signaled from the lobby announcing they had guests.

"I'll take care of it, sir," Alfred said unnecessarily as he walked to the monitor to see who dared show up at this very inopportune time.

A nervous looking young blonde woman appeared on the screen. Then Helena's face appeared and Alfred quickly summoned them to come up, calling out to Bruce.

When the elevator doors opened, Helena rushed to her father, her face and hands sticky with the remains of chocolate ice cream.

"And you are…?" Alfred asked the young woman who looked around the foyer with awe.

"Jenn, right?" Bruce said, holding Helena tightly unmindful of her sticky hands on his clothes.

"Yes. Hello," she said without smiling, and gave them a look, indicating she wanted to speak but not in front of Helena.

Bruce called out for Shanti, asking in Hindi for her to get Helena cleaned up. He handed his daughter to Shanti with a kiss and another tight hug.

"Where is she?" Bruce demanded as soon as Helena was out of earshot.

"I don't know." Jenn looked at him helplessly. "She was supposed to be back hours ago. I'm worried. I've been calling her and calling her but… So after the kid woke up from her nap, I came here."

"Where was she going?"

"I don't know. She doesn't tell me."

"Doesn't? This isn't the first time?"

"I've been watching Helena a couple mornings a week."

"And you don't know where she goes?"

Jenn shrugged. "She just said not to concern myself with it."

Bruce stared at her for a few moments before asking, "Who is she with?"

She averted her gaze from him, looking guilty. "No one," she said unconvincingly.

Bruce pressed her, looking angry and dangerous.

"I don't know! I swear! She drops Helena off at my place then leaves. I gotta go. Tell her to call me when she gets in, ok?"

She started to leave then paused and said to Alfred: "She usually gives me something for watching Helena. It's not like I'm charging but…it's helpful."

Alfred gave her the only cash he had: a fifty.

After she left, he turned to see Bruce scrolling through his phone.

"What is it?" Alfred asked when Bruce became still, his face losing all expression.

Bruce checked his watch. "A text from three hours ago from an anonymous phone: '352 Riverside. Help!' "

The address was in the warehouse district across the river outside of central Gotham.

"With afternoon traffic, it'll be 45 minutes. If you're lucky," Alfred called out as Bruce played voice mail messages on his speaker phone, deleting the inconsequential calls he often received.

The fourth message stopped him cold. When Selina's weak, defeated voice came through, Bruce looked up and met Alfred's distressed gaze.

"Bruce…I'm sorry…I didn't…They killed him…I'm so sorry…Tell Helena…" Her voice trailed off then silence. The last sound on the message was the clatter of the phone falling.

On his way out, Bruce hung up then made a call and when that one wasn't answered, quickly made another. As the doors to the elevator closed, he told Alfred to find Jim Gordon.


	3. The Allies Arrive

**The Allies Arrive**

Gotham politics had always been a dirty game but since it was no dirtier than any other major American city, Jim Gordon didn't concern himself too much with how the game was played. Except when he was obliged to play along to appease the higher ups which was always a waste of time. The meeting the mayor had forced him to attend today was a perfect example.

An agent from Homeland Security had spent the last two hours lecturing Gotham's top officials on Disaster Recovery. Gordon figured they had more experience in that area than anyone else in the country but the mayor was courting federal funds and demanded all top officials be present. She specifically ordered Gordon to attend the meeting telling him that she would not accept any made up police emergency excuses. He didn't need to manufacture emergencies, they happened all on their own without his assistance but, nevertheless, he instructed his staff not to interrupt even if the devil himself showed up.

So when his phone vibrated, he frowned in irritation and slid his hand into his pocket to reject the call. Thirty seconds later when it vibrated again he felt the first spark of concern. As if she sensed his phone going off, the mayor glared at him. He nodded an apology then powered off the phone hoping that the meeting would end soon but the Fed passed out yet another bulky handout to discuss.

Five minutes later, one of the mayor's assistants discretely beckoned to him from the doorway. Feeling the mayor's irritated eyes on him, Gordon shook him off. One minute later, the aide walked over and excitedly whispered in his ear: "Bruce Wayne is on the phone!"

Gordon looked at the man, uncomprehending what he heard, but the assistant eagerly nodded clearly in awe at who was calling. Forgetting about incurring the mayor's displeasure, Gordon rose and quickly exited following the assistant to a desk close to the conference room.

"This is Gordon."

"I need you to send a unit to 352 Riverside. It's in the warehouse district."

Gordon turned away from the overly curious aide and quietly asked, "What am I sending my people into, Mr. Wayne?"

"I have no idea."

"What's going on?"

A pause. "I don't know," he said, roughly. "It's… personal."

A simple word from a not so simple man dispelled any hesitation Jim may have had.

"I'll call it in." Gordon hung up and mumbled something to the waiting aide about an emergency. As he hurried to his car, he called dispatch ordering the closest units to proceed directly to the warehouse district address warning that the situation was unknown and to contact him as soon as officers arrived at the scene.

It had been a long while since Gordon had driven his city issued vehicle with the dashboard light flashing. He sped along the crowded streets feeling simultaneously exhilarated and anxious. He missed working with the masked mystery man who disappeared and appeared like a ghost in the night, missed his partner who shared his fervor to rid Gotham of crime and corruption. Who would have thought that the darling of the tabloids was really the dreaded enemy of Gotham's criminal underworld?

Gordon had never been anxious to discover the identity of Batman. Once he learned that the billionaire, Bruce Wayne, was the man behind the mask, he wasn't particularly shocked. He remembered the child sitting forlornly at the police station so long ago and the revelation made strange sense to him.

Just before Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham, Alfred Pennyworth, whom Gordon hadn't seen since the funeral, called to give him the news. Gordon perceived the man's happiness as well as the man's polite emphasis on Mr. Wayne's intention to carry on with the family business and _nothing else_. Gordon was curious why the man chose to return but, then again, he was curious as to the whys of much of what Bruce Wayne did.

The papers had been positively gleeful in the second return from the dead story about the Prince of Gotham. Despite himself, Gordon couldn't resist looking at the photos with the titillating headlines and, each time he did, he felt sad that no one knew the truth and Wayne had to live under such an unsavory and undeserved public reputation. For the first month of his return, the paparazzi had dogged Wayne's every step trying to capture the current iteration of Gotham's ever changing prodigal son. It was clear that they hoped for the more interesting Playboy Bruce Wayne to appear but since Wayne did nothing remarkable other than work in his family's company, the gossip columnists engaged in some pretty wild theories involving mystery women. Gordon was greatly relieved when the paparazzi grew tired of waiting for Wayne to do something interesting and turned their attention elsewhere.

A few weeks after Wayne returned they had bumped into each other in the financial district. Amidst the crowd of passersby, Wayne intimated that the other one was dead and would not be returning. Gordon nodded, wishing he could express the depth of his gratitude to this man whom had accomplished so much, this man with whom he had shared dark secrets, but he had no gift for words and awkwardly wished him well. Bruce smiled and nodded as if he, too, wished to say more. After shaking hands, Gordon watched as he climbed into an understated black Mercedes and drove away. Bruce Wayne was shedding the more ostentatious façade of wealth.

The warehouse district was on the other side of the East River in a depressed and mostly deserted part of outer Gotham. A few businesses still existed in the area, mostly salvage and junk dealers, but, for the most part, old and battered For Sale signs lined the streets. He turned onto Riverside Road which was nowhere near the river and saw the flashing lights of two patrol cars in front of a three story brick warehouse that looked like it had been abandoned decades ago. He parked behind one of the patrol cars and as he exited his vehicle, a familiar black Mercedes pulled up behind his car.

"The officers' initial report is that the building appears to be deserted," Gordon said by way of greeting.

With Gordon close behind, Bruce hurried toward the large front door that the officers had broken through to enter the premises. As they neared the entrance, a young officer burst outside, gave them a quick apologetic look before vomiting on the sidewalk.

The two men exchanged a glance before heading inside, Wayne's expression was blank but the set of his mouth was familiar.

The warehouse was dark and had that eerie quietness of long abandoned buildings. Gordon called out to the other officers his voice echoing in the darkness.

"Up here, sir!" A male voice responded. "We got a body!"

Wayne pushed past him, running up the stairs toward the sound of the officer's voice. They made their way through a maze of empty offices until they saw the light of the officer's flashlight at the end of the hall.

The few windows in the room were clouded by years of grime. As a result, the setting sun provided little illumination but there was enough to see the body that lay on a sheet of plastic. More identification would not be immediately forthcoming as the head had been gruesomely bashed in. Smashed to the extent that what was once a man's head was now a bloody, pulpy mass of blood, brain, and shattered bone.

"Who is that?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know," Bruce replied grimly. He turned to the young patrolwoman who was trying her best to hide her disgust. "Did you find anyone else?"

"No, sir," the officer answered then looked to Gordon, confused about the civilian at the crime scene.

"Who are we looking for?" Gordon asked.

Wayne ran his hand distractedly through his hair as he took in everything in the room. "A woman. Five-eight, long dark hair, brown eyes…"

The description fit the woman Gordon had seen the last time he had seen Batman. Gordon's recollection of the day Gotham had been saved from the bomb was vivid, the smallest of details not forgotten including the woman whose presence had so surprised him. When he had emerged from the back of the semi, he'd thought to see Batman but instead there she was. He hadn't known anything about her other than she had helped Batman save the city and then she disappeared. He'd only seen her for a few moments but her features that were visible from the mask were etched in his memory and it pained him to realize that she may have met a violent end.

Another unit arrived. Gordon divided the officers between searching the grounds and the remainder of the warehouse ordering them to stay out of the room with the body and not touch anything. The property was overrun with weeds, trash, and scrap metal, fenced in by a tall chain length fence topped with spirals of barbed wire. A perfect place for unlawful criminal meetings.

Sensing that Wayne wanted to find the woman and disappear, Gordon delayed calling homicide as long as he could. The tabloids would have a field day if they caught a whiff of Bruce Wayne being touched by another violent crime.

As he searched the building, Bruce kept calling a number on his phone, listening vainly for the sound of a phone ringing or vibrating. They confirmed that there was no one else in the building then joined the other officers searching the empty lot.

Gordon studied the derelict building, glad to be on the outside and away from that body. The sun was close to setting, daylight savings hadn't hit yet, and when the sun shone against the east side of the building, he saw a smear of blood over one of the second story windows.

"Mr. Wayne." He pointed up to the window.

They both discerned more smudges of red against the faded brick and rushed back upstairs to the third floor. Gordon looked for roof access as Wayne pushed open the second story window and climbed through following the blood trail up the side of the building.

Gordon soon found a panel that would open onto the roof. Sliding a dusty metal desk under the panel, he pushed his way through and when he emerged onto the roof heard Wayne cry out, "Selina!"

A woman was slumped in the narrow space between a pair of battered, dirty HVAC units, her head sagging down so that her chin rested on her chest, a cell phone on the roof beside her.

Wayne gently touched her bloody face, whispering to her. She did not respond.

Gordon decided to be optimistic and called for an ambulance. He just couldn't imagine that Bruce Wayne would lose someone like this and that Gordon would have to be present as he lost another person important to him.

The woman had hidden well and it was difficult to get her out of the cramped space without causing more damage. He helped Bruce gently pull her out of the tight space and laid her out on the roof.

Her face was covered with blood, one eye on its way to be swollen shut, her hands were also bloody, so bloody he almost didn't notice that one of her hands, which had been nestled protectively in her black leather jacket, had been smashed.

Bruce touched her neck feeling for a pulse. "She's alive," he said, as much to Gordon as to himself. He smoothed her hair back from her head, assessing her many injuries, frowning as he stared at her mangled hand.

"The ambulance will be here soon. Let's get her downstairs," Gordon said quietly.

Gordon climbed down through the access and Bruce, as gently as possible, lowered her through the narrow panel to Gordon's waiting arms. He jumped down and took her from him. Holding her close, he carried her down the stairs.

As they waited for the ambulance, Gordon anxiously scanned the area looking for any sign of the media, hoping that a body found in the warehouse district wasn't enough to draw the attention of the evening news.

"I'll take care of your car," Gordon said later as Bruce climbed into the ambulance. Bruce tossed him the keys, his fingers red with blood.

As soon as the ambulance pulled away, Gordon called homicide. The officer who had thrown up earlier stood beside the front door looking as if the last thing he wanted to do was go back in but Gordon ordered him to round up everyone and to stay away from the body upstairs. With any luck, the crime scene hadn't been compromised too badly by the search.

"Was that who I think it was?" John Blake asked, coming up from behind him. "I heard your name on the police radio and thought I could help."

"This doesn't concern you, Blake. Off you go."

"It was him, right?"

Instead of answering, Gordon gave the officers who gathered outside a clear message that the civilian who just left needn't appear on any report. Each and every one of the officers received a long, steady look in the eye to emphasize his point. Most had never dealt with the commissioner before and were new enough to the force that they wouldn't dare disobey. Still, a few gave him a disbelieving look like they couldn't believe he, of all people, would bow down to Gotham's elite. Gordon hated that no one here knew who this man was and what he had done for their city.

Blake stood behind him in a manner that suggested he had a right to. Which he did not.

"This is a crime scene, son. Bystanders can stay here," Gordon said gruffly before reentering the warehouse.

"Come on, Commissioner," John said, following him. "You're not still mad about that?"

"There's a way to do things and a way not to. If you would've stuck with being a detective, you would've known that." Gordon ascended the stairs wanting to get a last look at that room before Homicide arrived.

"So why was he here?" John asked.

He was uncomfortable discussing Bruce Wayne with anyone even John Blake yet he wanted Blake here, someone to appreciate and understand the whys of Gotham's police commissioner concealing evidence. They reached the room with the body so he didn't bother answering John since Blake would figure out the whys soon enough.

This time when Gordon entered the room, he was prepared for the gruesome sight of the dead man. Unlike Blake who muttered a horrified, "Jesus" then dispensed with the questions. With the eye of a detective, Gordon surveyed the room searching more for something that might connect this horrible scene to Bruce Wayne than evidence to the crime. Let homicide deal with the body, he told himself, he would do his best to shield his friend from his life being scrutinized too closely.

Other than broken glass that littered the floor the only other objects were an overturned metal chair and an old metal desk against the wall.

"If our friend wasn't involved, I would think this is a drug deal gone bad." Blake squatted beside the body pointing at the corpse's arms. "Track marks. Long time user by the looks of him. Shouldn't be too tough to ID this guy."

Blake lifted his gaze, his brow furrowed as he saw something of interest. Reaching under the metal desk, he held up a set of keys.

Since one of the keys on the ring was for a very expensive car, Gordon assumed they belonged to Bruce Wayne's friend. As Blake held them up, he could see the flecks of blood and tissue.

"Looks like these were used as a weapon," Blake said. "Who was in the ambulance, Commissioner?"

Gordon sighed, "A woman friend of his. Someone important to him." He looked at Blake steadily willing the young man to understand why he was doing what he was doing. He reached for the keys, pushing aside the guilt that he was about to remove evidence from a crime scene.

Blake spared him, pocketing them himself. "Seems a waste to throw out all the effort he's been making to keep a low profile because of his girlfriend."

The way Blake said 'girlfriend' caught his attention.

"Don't jump to conclusions, hotshot," Gordon said.

"Don't you know who that woman is, Commissioner?"

"I do," Gordon looked at him carefully. "Do you?"

"I'm just saying she's not…an innocent."

Gordon sighed again and looked around the room. "Who is, Mr. Blake? Who is?"

* * *

When Homicide arrived, Blake cringed to see who the lead detective was. Detective Jessica Massey was Homicide's rising star and the worst possible detective they wanted on this case. She was notorious for her hatred of cold cases, doing everything she could to solve the crime and keep her close rate the highest in the department. She was also a friend.

"Jess! Missed you last Friday at Gallagher's. Heard you had a date."

"Yeah. With a corpse," she sighed. It was a joke that someone as pretty as Jessica had a terrible love life. "Seems like those are my only dates nowadays. And here's my newest one."

Her face betrayed no emotion as she examined the body. "Why are you here?" She asked without looking up.

"I was in the neighborhood," he replied then decided it best to leave her before she asked him more questions.

The Commissioner followed him down the stairs.

"What do you need me to do, Commissioner?" John Blake asked as they walked outside, eager to help with what he knew would be a touchy situation to Jim Gordon.

"You can take him his car," Gordon passed another set of keys to Blake.

Blake started to protest feeling he deserved a more important job than delivery boy but quieted as Jessica approached them.

"Well, that guy pissed off someone in the worst way," she said as she slipped off her latex gloves. "I understand someone was removed from the crime scene."

"Yes," Gordon said. "She's been transported to Gotham General. I doubt you'll get much information from her."

"We'll see, Commissioner," she replied, looking at him closely.

"She was in pretty bad shape. I'm not sure when she will be well enough to question her."

"I can wait. Frankly, I'm just tickled pink I _might_ have a witness. This thing smells like a drug deal gone bad so it'll be great if I can actually talk to somebody."

"What have you got so far, detective?" Gordon asked.

"The way I see it, there was a helluva fight up there but that plastic makes me think this might have been planned. My guess is that the perp did not intend for a body to be found. Something scared him or her off…maybe the cops. Who were called by whom exactly?"

"The victim, you think?" Blake asked, wanting to put off the inevitable as long as he could. Jess would find out the truth soon enough.

"Victim? You sure?"

"How would we know?" Blake shrugged then grinned his flirtiest grin. He liked Jessica, had gone out drinking with her and a few other friends from the force many times over the years.

"Uh huh," she muttered, smelling a rat. "So what brings you here, Commissioner?"

"A crime, detective," Gordon answered, his tone reminding her who he was.

She got the message but Blake knew Jess. A spark had been lit in that investigator brain of hers. The Commissioner's presence at the homicide of an apparent junkie was definitely odd.

With a look to John, the Commissioner went back inside the warehouse.

Jess gazed at Blake, her eyes narrowing as she waited for him to level with her. He didn't. He couldn't even if he wanted to; it just wasn't his information to give.

"Whose Mercedes is that?" She finally asked.

"Mine for today," Blake said, reaching in his pocket to jingle the keys before remembering that one set had blood on them.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. Since when does a bounty hunter afford a hundred thousand dollar Benz?"

"Hey, business is booming!"

"I bet. Well, whoever that belongs to, you better get it back or it's gonna get stripped. Even with all the cops around."

The commotion had attracted a few vagrants who were eyeing the expensive car. The rims alone would fetch a nice sum.

"So, Jessica, buy you a beer later?" Blake called out as he headed toward Wayne's car. "How about when you're through here? I know a great new bar over on 15th."

"Don't you have any lost dogs to find?" She smirked, enjoying their usual flirty banter. "Besides, it's Tuesday. Some of us have regular jobs, you know."

"Every day is Friday for me, Jess." John watched her walk away then proceeded to talk to a few of the bums who milled about the scene, asking about what they had seen. Once he was confident no one had witnessed Wayne enter the premises, he slid into the car and took off.

As he crossed the bridge to Central Gotham, Alfred called asking him to come by the penthouse to pick up clothes for Master Wayne and to make certain that his vehicle was returned in the shape he found it in. Between the Commissioner and Alfred, John was starting to feel like an errand boy.

For Bruce Wayne, Blake gladly accepted whatever jobs helped him. He was, after all, his mentor even if the guy didn't want to acknowledge it.

Blake had been very curious when Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham so he kept tabs on him, "accidentally" running into him, getting him to buy him a burger at what passed for a cheap joint in the expensive hotel Bruce owned and lived in. The fifty dollar burger was good, better than the conversation as Blake told Bruce about what he'd been up to, making some money as a private detective, making even more money as a skip tracer and making no money at his other 'job'. Bruce gazed at him in a way that Blake couldn't figure out if he approved or not.

As far as John could see, Bruce Wayne had become boring. Well, almost as boring as when he decided to stay in his house for years. All John Blake could see was that that the man worked then went home to his luxury penthouse at the top of his luxury hotel. Then late one night a few months ago, he saw him with a woman and Blake was shocked to see that it was none other than Selina Kyle. The last he'd seen of her was when he had escorted her to the MCU for booking.

As he pulled into the parking garage at Gotham General, he thought about the woman he had always suspected had something to do with Bruce's disappearance just before Bane took over the city. It didn't make sense to him to see them together so he checked to see what she'd been up to the last few years and received another shock: there was no mention of her in any database he searched. He knew without a doubt that the woman had quite a record but he couldn't find evidence of her existing at all. Even though he knew what he'd find, he went to the station to look at her paper file and wasn't surprised to find that her very large file had gone missing but that wasn't nearly as big a mystery since at the time of Bane most police station records had been destroyed.

And here she was possibly wreaking more havoc on Bruce Wayne's life.

The route to the emergency room was all too familiar to Blake. He quickly found Bruce Wayne arguing with a hospital administrator.

"Don't say the word insurance to me again!" Bruce almost yelled at the middle aged woman in crumpled business clothes.

"Sir, this is not a charity hospital," she responded patronizingly. "We need to get her over to St. Theresa's. These beds are for insured patients."

"Lady," Blake interjected. "Do you know who this is? The bills will get paid, trust me."

She gave him a look, taking in his scruffy attire, and promptly dismissed him.

"Sir," she said to Bruce. "You aren't even a family member. You have no legal right to make decisions for this person. We don't accept 'boyfriend' as a recognized legal status."

A man in a business suit quickly approached, shaking Bruce's hand, apologizing profusely. He identified himself as the hospital administrator before admonishing the woman whose face was now red with anger and embarrassment. Apparently deciding she couldn't get away with being rude to Bruce Wayne, she glared hatefully at John before stalking off in a huff.

As the man stammered more apologies, a team of medical personnel soon appeared and wheeled Selina out of the emergency room and into a waiting elevator. The administrator gestured for Bruce to proceed to another elevator. Without being asked, Blake followed them, both Bruce and John ignored the babblings of the nervous man.

They emerged on a floor Blake had yet to visit. It was an exclusive part of the hospital that Blake never knew existed. The hustle and bustle of the emergency seemed very far away. The administrator led them into a comfortable waiting room. He offered coffee and looked like he was about to sit down to wait with them. Bruce gave Blake a quick nod of his head and John, with very little diplomacy, told the guy to get lost.

"Alfred sent you some clothes," he said, after the man left. He handed Bruce the leather bag Alfred had sent. Wayne was a mess; his suit was smeared with blood, his white shirt had a huge red circle from chest to belly, dried blood on his neck. "You should get cleaned up."

"Yeah," Bruce said absently as he took the bag.

Five minutes later, he came out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. He stuffed his suit in the large trash can by the door.

"What happened?" John asked as Bruce sat down next to him.

"I don't know," he said, sounding sick of saying that.

"Why was she there? Who's the dead guy?"

Bruce glared at him.

"The homicide detective thinks it's a drug deal gone bad. The John Doe has the look of a heroin addict."

"Track marks on his arms," John explained at Bruce's questioning look.

"I didn't notice that."

"Yeah, I guess not. Are these hers?" He held up the keys he had retrieved from the crime scene.

Bruce looked at them for a moment, taking in the blood and tissue that clung to them. "Yes," he said taking them.

"Looks like she used them to defend herself," Blake said quietly though he was pleased they were hers. On the drive over, he worried that he may have unnecessarily tampered with evidence.

Bruce nodded then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the keys.

"I talked to some of the bums in the area but they didn't see anything. Didn't see any cars coming or going. Didn't see you. I'm friends with the detective in charge, Jessica Massey…" Jess was a straight up cop but John thought he might be able to convince her to not look too closely at things Bruce didn't want looked into. "What can I do to help?"

"Don't prevent her from doing her job." Bruce gave him a steady look.

"She's gonna want to talk to…her…Selina."

"If she's a good detective she will."

"Wait," Blake just realized something. "How did she get there? Selina, I mean. Other than your car and the cop cars, there was nothing. No buses go to that part of town."

Bruce didn't respond. The room was quiet as they waited. Bruce stayed perfectly still while Blake fidgeted, fingers drumming on his knee, getting up and walking around before sitting back down.

Then he started talking, telling Bruce more about what he'd been up to. When they met the first time, he'd left out a good bit of details including getting in trouble with Gordon. He knew he was babbling but sitting in silence never worked well with him. He also got the feeling he was wearing out his welcome but he didn't want to leave Bruce alone.

Bruce slid his phone out of his pocket then made a call. He gave Alfred Selina's status, telling him she was in surgery and that they hadn't heard from a doctor yet. With a quick look to John, he walked outside the waiting room. Blake watched him through the big glass window, surprised to see his face change, opening up, smiling as he talked. He didn't think he was talking to Alfred.

As Bruce talked, Blake received a text message from Alfred telling him it was okay to leave Mr. Wayne alone. The old guy thought of everything.

"What can I do?" Blake asked when Bruce returned.

Bruce checked his phone, accessing the GPS function, then showed Blake a map with a blinking blue dot. The dot was at the Gotham Promenade Shopping Mall.

"You want me to go shopping?"

"No, I want you to get her car." He reached into his pocket and took out the bloody keys. He looked at them before taking one of the keys of the ring. He also gave him cash to call a taxi after he dropped off her car telling him to take a cab home. He emphasized home with a look letting Blake know he didn't want him returning to the hospital.

"I get it," Blake said. On the way out, he paused by the door. "The Commissioner and me? We just want to help you."

* * *

A/N: At this point, I'm sure many of you are thinking that for a Bruce and Selina story there sure isn't a lot of Bruce and Selina. Just know that the last two chapters were setting up the story. While Selina is going to be unconscious for awhile, the story centers on her and her relationship with Bruce. Thank you for reading!


	4. Interrogations

A/N: A few bits of profanity here and there. If you don't like the F word, you probably might not like the direction of this story. Not that it will be filled with F words but later chapters will explore some very dark themes. So consider yourself warned. :)

Also, thanks for reading and reviewing! This story is quite a departure from my comfort zone so it's great to get feedback.

* * *

**Interrogations**

The Chief of Surgery, Dr. Andrew Rathburn, escorted Bruce to Selina's room. On the way, he detailed to Bruce the extent of Selina's injuries assuring him that she would make a full recovery with the possible exception of her left hand that suffered extensive damage. He advised getting a specialist and told him he would contact the best hand surgeon in the country knowing that cost was not factor. When they reached her room, the doctor lingered outside seemingly to give Bruce privacy when he finally saw her.

"It looks bad," Dr. Rathburn said, preparing him the best he could. "But she will recover. She's sedated and won't wake for a few days but that's good. It keeps her out of pain and gives her body time for her injuries to heal." He shook Bruce's hand and said, "I'll make that call now."

Bruce nodded, eager for the doctor to get on his way.

When he entered the hospital room, his first impression of her was that she seemed peaceful. The lights were low, masking the worst of the damage until he walked closer. She looked worse than when he found her on that rooftop. No blood to obscure the damage wreaked on her face and body. Her right eye was swollen shut, cuts were scattered over her face, her lip was split, and a bandage covered a deep gash on her forehead that went past her hairline. Her wrists were bandaged in a manner that looked like she had attempted suicide but the self-inflicted gashes on her wrists were from her cutting herself free of the rough rope that bound her hands. Her neck was a mottled mass of purple and black.

Bruce swallowed his anger as he took in the ring of bruises that encircled her neck, picturing someone using all their strength to choke the life out of her. What he could not see now but remembered vividly as the paramedics had worked on her in the ambulance was the almost stab wound on her chest. A one inch cut where her assailant had readied to plunge a knife into her heart.

Someone had done his best to kill her. Bruce ruled out a former mark because this was not the work of someone trying to get payback for getting robbed. This was something else entirely; there was an air of cruelty to her injuries, an excessiveness bordering on sadistic. The person who had done this had taken pleasure in it.

But she had fought. Her fingers and hands bore witness to the lengths she had gone to survive. The tips were bandaged where a few of the nails had been ripped off, her knuckles covered with medical tape to cover the deep cuts. It had been a bad fight.

He moved a chair to the right side of her bed so he could hold the hand that was not encased in a temporary cast. There was no response to his gentle squeeze, her fingers were warm but alarmingly still. Propping his elbows on the bed, he stared at Selina's bruised and battered face trying to make sense of what had happened and how everything had gone so wrong between them.

What about the other man? The man whose head had been beaten to a bloody pulp. The man with the tattoos covering his arms, with the silver skull rings on his lifeless fingers. In her last message, she had said 'they killed him'. Who was this man to her? Bruce chased away speculation unwilling to let last night's hurt creep back in but his thoughts swirled around their devastating fight, their angry words replaying over and over in his mind.

Yesterday morning, he had told Alfred he would deal with Selina when he returned home from D.C. Yet, as he sat in the meeting with Senator Brass and other executives, he couldn't focus on the intricacies of forging this international deal that would not only provide much needed jobs in a very poor region of India but clean accessible water to those in dire need. The implications of her spending her nights away from the penthouse was something he didn't want to think about but as the meeting continued on, his thoughts centered not on helping drought ridden regions access water but on who Selina was spending her nights with.

When one of the visitors from Rajasthan looked at him in dismay, he realized he was not hiding his escalating anger very well. Since he was useless to the proceedings, he abruptly excused himself, wincing inwardly at the knowing look Brass gave him. He was doing his best to shed his irresponsible playboy image and hated that his sudden departure would play into that preconception. His anger to Selina deepened.

As he hailed a taxi, he phoned his pilot, telling him to be ready to depart within the hour. The plane neared Gotham and Bruce gave in to an impulse he had been fighting for hours: he checked the GPS on her phone. The blinking blue dot indicated she was where she was supposed to be. It was just past eleven at night when he pulled into the parking garage at the penthouse. He parked next to Selina's black Range Rover, very relieved to see physical proof that she was home.

When he went to their bedroom, he found it vacant. A thorough search of the penthouse revealed that she was not there. After looking in on Helena, he checked the guest room next to Helena's room confirming that Isha was indeed spending the night just as Alfred had said. While he hadn't doubted Alfred, he hadn't wanted to believe him either.

Bruce returned to their room and called Selina. As he waited for her to answer, he heard a vibration sound in the drawer of the nightstand. Opening the drawer to the nightstand, he found her phone, 'forwarding call' visible on the screen.

"Bruce?" She finally answered just before the call was sent to voice mail. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," he said, lifting the phone out of the drawer. Despite the adrenaline that passed through him, his voice remained calm. "I just thought I'd see what you were doing."

Bruce glanced around the room confirming, again, that she was not there.

"Nothing really. I'm just… getting ready for bed. You worried me calling so late."

As she was talking, lying, he paced the floor trying to calm his heart hammering in his chest. After they hung up, he stared at her phone before hurling it across the room where it shattered against the wall.

He turned off the lights, choosing to sit in the dark to look out at the lights of Gotham as he waited for her to come home. The hours ticked by, his anger turned cold as he imagined the things she might be doing at this moment. At two a.m., he admitted to himself that he hoped she was stealing rather than cheating. She wouldn't do that to him, to them, he told himself before the dark part of him remembered other things. It's not as if she hadn't betrayed him before…

At three a.m., she returned, dressed in unfamiliar clothes: skinny jeans, zipped up black leather jacket, and thick-soled lace-up black boots. Not the kind of attire worn while burgling a house, he noted. Unaware of his presence, she dropped a backpack on the floor then started to unzip her coat but stopped when she noticed her broken phone on the floor.

Her body tensed and she took a few seconds to compose herself before turning to face him. They stared at each other for a few long, uncomfortable moments, each outwardly communicating nothing yet everything.

"I didn't expect you back," she finally said.

"Obviously." Bruce said, his voice cold.

Selina remained standing in place, keeping a safe distance between them. "It's not what you think."

"Really?" Bruce drawled, waiting for an explanation, watching her scheme her way to a believable story.

"I…" she started but stopped and gave him a look like he had no business asking her anything.

With effort, Bruce controlled his temper. "Either you're thieving or you're screwing around. Which is it?"

"Neither," she replied, keeping her face clear of expression.

He sprang up out the chair, furious with her nonexplanations as well as her months-long withdrawal from him. Her startled eyes never left his as he closed the distance between them to stand directly in front of her.

"Where were you?" He demanded.

A slight flicker of doubt appeared in her eyes. "Out with a friend."

"Who?" His voice fell deeper.

Her gaze never wavered from his. "No one you know."

In that instant, he felt exhausted. He didn't want to beg her for scraps of information. "For Chrissake, Selina, you have a child. You can't run around the city in the middle of the night doing whatever it is you're doing. We didn't come back here so you could screw everything up."

He had touched a nerve with that one, her eyes flashed with guilt before anger took over.

"You don't know me at all, Bruce."

"You got that right, Selina," he laughed, bitterly. The months of gradual estrangement had finally taken their toll on him. "How can I? You never tell me a goddamn thing!"

"Oh, Bruce, face it, coming home has shown us what a sham we are together. We were living a fantasy life and now that we're back to reality…" She turned, walking away to stare out the window. "I've just realized how much you and I don't belong together."

The hurt that her words elicited tore through him. "Did that just occur to you while you were out fucking somebody?"

The tensing of her body showed that he had succeeding in wounding her. His already seething anger increased that she would dare act the role of the injured party.

"No, it didn't." She looked away from the window back at him, her face set in determination. "I've known it forever."

The sadness in her voice surprised him but his anger held fast and he didn't respond to what could be an opening to fix this mess. He felt like he was being carried off on a wave with no control over where he was going. His mind could not get beyond his heart-sickening suspicions, imagining things she may have been doing with someone else. He wanted to rage at her, to demand the name of who had lured her away from him.

She started to walk away, dismissing him, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him.

"If you think you're taking my daughter and setting up in some Old Town dump you can forget it!"

She wrenched her arm free, backing away from him. "You don't get to tell me what to do!"

"When it comes to Helena I do."

"I could take her and, believe me, you would never find us." She looked away quickly, maybe realizing she had gone too far.

He stared at her in shock, unable to believe she had said such a thing. He loomed over her, backing her against the wall, his face coming dangerously close to hers. She unflinchingly met his furious gaze.

"Do not threaten me," his voice was dangerously calm.

Her chin lifted in defiance. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Oh, Selina, I know _exactly _what you are capable of."

Her eyes widened. It was an old guilt that had never been resolved between them. Never mentioned but there nevertheless. She pushed him away from her as she fled to the safety of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Over the years, Bruce had been in many, many fights but the confrontation he had experienced with Selina left him raw and beaten without a single punch being thrown. Leave it to Selina to get that out of him; she had always made him feel too much. If he had been thinking clearly, which he had so not been, he would not have approached her the way he did. Now that he was calmer, he knew his mistake. Selina never reacted well when her back was against the wall and he had literally had back her against a wall. He had trapped her and when Selina felt trapped, she lashed out, her bandaged fingers attesting to that fact. As did his battered psyche.

He stared at her, listening to the beeps of the hospital equipment, and realized the extent of his mistakes concerning Selina Kyle. The most grievous one was that she didn't know he loved her.

* * *

To visit or not to visit. That was the question Jim Gordon agonized over most of the night and a good part of the morning. There had been distinct boundaries to his friendship with Batman, if it could be called a friendship, that is. But it was, Gordon thought, remembering the masked man's visit to his hospital room years before. He decided what the hell, go see the man and find out what he could do to help. Even if help meant stonewalling a police investigation.

As he waited in mid-morning traffic that was at a standstill, he checked the Gotham news sites both happy and concerned that he found no mention of yesterday's homicide. Happy that Bruce Wayne may be able to get through this without his name being tainted and concerned that a junkie's violent death apparently did not warrant any attention.

The route from the hospital garage to the lobby was all too familiar to Gordon. With over twenty years on the force, he had plenty of opportunities to visit injured colleagues in this hospital. He stopped by the information desk, flashed his badge, then realized other than 'Selina' he didn't know the woman's name. The attendant was friendly and wanted to be helpful to law enforcement, taking extra time to search the records until she found Selina Kyle's room. "On the _twelfth_ floor" she told him as if that was something special.

The elevator doors almost closed before a hand appeared in the middle, forcing them open. Jim was not surprised to find that the hand belonged to John Blake holding a breakfast sandwich in his mouth and a coffee in the other hand.

"Good morning, Commissioner," Blake greeted, his mouth full of food.

"Do you have a GPS on my car, Blake?" Gordon asked, not feeling as exasperated as he sounded.

"I knew you'd be here sooner or later." Blake said, with a cheeky but charming grin before taking another big bite out of his breakfast sandwich. "I thought I'd come by and see if any more cars need moving around. I'm hoping he left the Lamborghini somewhere far away."

"I don't think he drives that anymore," Gordon remarked.

"Yeah, he's trying to be low key and fall off the media's radar." John looked up at the floor indicators above the elevator doors, watching as they approached the twelfth floor. "You know, he's going to all this effort to be a good citizen, in the public's eyes, and she's dragging him down into the mud."

"You don't know that." Gordon waved him off as they emerged from the elevator and walked down the long hall toward the waiting room.

"A woman with that kind of criminal past is trouble. Seriously, Commissioner, her file was like this thick." Blake held up his thumb and index finger about three inches apart. "She kidnapped Congressman Gilly. And, I know she had something to do with Bruce Wayne disappearing just before Bane took over."

Gordon frowned, that information was new to him. "I only remember her helping save the city just before the bomb went off."

"Really?" Blake looked skeptical.

"I don't want to gossip about this," Gordon said. "Ms. Kyle is Mr. Wayne's private business."

"That private business is going to become very public if the press gets wind of this," Blake said quickly and softly as they neared the waiting room.

"Let's make sure that doesn't happen."

They found Bruce talking to a physician. Not wanting to interrupt, they hung back a discrete distance. Bruce nodded to them as he listened to the doctor.

"Have you talked to Detective Massey?" Gordon asked as they waited. After yesterday, he looked into service file and was impressed with her arrest record.

"Not since the crime scene. She knows something's up."

"Tell me about her," Gordon said.

"She's good at what she does. She likes catching bad guys especially people who end other people's lives."

"Am I imagining it or are my ears burning?" Massey asked, coming up from behind them.

"It's your imagination," Blake responded with an embarrassed grin.

"Hello, Commissioner Gordon, I didn't expect to see you here. So are you guys all buddies or what?"

"What brings you here, Jess?" Blake asked.

At his adversarial tone, she straightened as if expecting a battle.

"I need to question one of my suspects."

"Suspect?" Gordon asked. "You mean the victim and I don't think she's up to it."

"She's not. She's in surgery. And I did mean suspect." She nodded in Bruce Wayne's direction. "Your rich friend over there."

Gordon and Blake stared at her incredulously.

"No," Blake said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gordon looked at her steadily. "Detective, you're wasting your time."

"All due respect, Commissioner, but it's you that's wasting my time. I don't understand what's happening between the three of you but I do know that I got a dead body and the guy may be a lowly junkie but he died badly. Viciously. I'm going to find who killed him which means exploring every possible lead. That includes your friend in there."

"Look, Jess," Blake said. "No way he's part of this."

"How do you know?" She asked.

Blake looked at Gordon. "We just know. He's a friend."

Bruce and the doctor had finished their conversation. As Bruce started towards them, Gordon intercepted him needing to talk to him before Massey began her questioning.

"A detective is here to ask you some questions. I can order her to wait…"

"Don't go out on a limb for me, Commissioner," Bruce said, shaking his head. "It's fine."

"Yes, but, she thinks-" He stopped as Blake and Massey joined them. "Mr. Wayne, this is Detective Jessica Massey."

Bruce reached out to shake her hand. Massey looked at it, then up at his face before taking it.

She wasted no time with pleasantries. "Why were you at the crime scene, Mr. Wayne?"

Blake discretely rolled his eyes at all their efforts of hiding Wayne's presence were wasted.

"I received a text and then a voice mail from Ms. Kyle."

"What time were those?" She took out her notebook, preparing to take notes.

"The text was about 1:30."

"And the voice mail message?" She asked without looking up as she wrote down his answers.

"About half hour after that."

"What did she say?" She looked up from her notebook.

Bruce hesitated, uncomfortable at having to divulge personal information. Gordon started to intervene but Wayne shook his head.

"She said that she was sorry and that 'They killed him'"

"Sorry for what?"

"We had an argument," Bruce replied.

"Over what?"

Bruce stared at her for a few seconds before responding. "I don't remember."

Massey's eyes narrowed. "Do you still have the voice mail?"

"No."

"Do you know the deceased?"

"No."

"Ever seen him before?"

"Not that I know of."

"Yeah, it'd be hard to recognize him now. Our John Doe was bludgeoned about the head with what we think was a club wrapped in barbed wire." She waited for his reaction and when she received none, she continued. "I've also read the report on Ms. Kyle's injuries. You know what strikes me, Mr. Wayne? This person was furious. This wasn't the work of someone mad about money or drugs but someone who wanted to punish, to inflict pain and suffering. You sure you can't remember what you and Ms. Kyle argued about?"

Bruce folded his arms and looked at her with a guarded expression.

"I'm sure."

"So what started out looking like a bad business transaction is starting to smell like a crime of passion. The kind of crime where a husband or boyfriend just loses it in a fit of jealous rage."

"Now, wait a minute, Jess," Blake said. "Mr. Wayne would not do that. Believe me!"

She looked angrily at Blake as if she felt betrayed by his siding with a suspect before turning her assessing gaze back on Bruce. "I checked into the warehouse. Guess who owns it?"

"I have no idea."

"You do, Mr. Wayne. Not Wayne Enterprises, not any of your other corporations or LLCs or other entities you rich seem so fond of but you, Bruce Wayne."

Bruce looked surprised at that information but hid it quickly. "I have a lot of properties."

"I'll bet. So, let me get this straight. You get a text asking for help but don't respond for two hours?"

"I had my phone off."

"Uh huh. Then, your girlfriend leaves a cryptic message and you don't respond to that for an hour?"

"Like I said, my phone was off."

"Might I ask where you were?"

Bruce smiled humorlessly as if this had all suddenly turned horrifyingly funny to him.

"Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts from noon to three?" Jessica asked.

"Nope."

Massey shook her head in disgust. "I think I have all I need here. I've left word with the nurse's station to be notified the moment Ms. Kyle wakes up."

She started to leave then turned around to face Bruce again. "Just because you're rich, doesn't mean you're above the law. If you had something to do with this, I'll figure it out. Even if you can intimidate your girlfriend and," she looked at Blake and Gordon, "your _friends_ into silence, I'll find the truth."

With a long glare at Blake, Massey left.

"Sorry about Jess," Blake said. "She's a little sensitive about boyfriends killing girlfriends. Her sister was murdered in a domestic abuse situation." Blake cringed when he realized what he was saying. "Not that's what's happening here but she has a thing about this kind of thing. Or what she thinks is this kind of thing..."

"It's okay, John," Bruce said, still watching her as she waited for an elevator. "She's doing her job."

"What are you gonna do?" Blake asked.

"Wait for Selina to wake up. Who better to ask than her?"

"John," Gordon asked. "Is Massey the kind that likes media attention? I mean, will she leak unsubstantiated information to the press?"

"No," Blake emphatically shook his head. "Not at all."

"Good." The last thing they needed is for an attention-starved detective jumping at the chance to be in the media spotlight by implicating Bruce Wayne in a homicide. Gordon looked at Bruce. "She's just fishing. She has nothing and she's eliminating all possibilities."

"I know," Bruce said. "Though I don't think she's eliminated me."

"Are you worried?" Blake asked.

"Not about that," Bruce said as he glanced quickly in the direction of Ms. Kyle's hospital room.

"Is she going to be alright?" Gordon asked.

"She'll recover," Bruce replied. He looked distracted before settling his gaze on Blake. "John, there is something you can do for me."

"Anything."

"I need you to find Selina's friend, Jen." He gave him her description and last known address, the walk up in Old Town. "Sorry, but that's all I know about her."

"No problem," Blake said. "This is right up my alley."

"Also, see what you can find about Congressmen Gilly and what he's been up to lately. I don't think he had anything to do with this but let's… eliminate him from the suspects if we can."

"Suspects?" Gordon asked. "As in plural? Who else do you have in mind?"

"Other than me? No one."


	5. Visitors

A/N: Apologies for the extreme delay in updating this story! Work is crazy busy right now and by the time I get home my brain is fried but I will do my best not to let another three weeks lapse before the next part. This chapter was a bear to get through and I guess I could edit it forever but then I'll never get to the next part. Thank you for your patience! Hope you like this part which is the last before the mystery solving kicks into gear.

* * *

**Visitors**

As soon as she awoke at her usual six a.m., Helena sensed something was wrong, spending the morning crying for her mother and fussing at Alfred. After an hour of trying to placate her, Alfred called Isha fervently hopeful that the two would be able to communicate via telephone without their usual reliance on hand gestures or facial expressions. He managed to get his point across and Isha told him in her best English that she would be there as soon as she could find a ride. Alfred quickly responded, "Taxi. Please. Now. Please. Thank you." hoping she would understand that he would pay the cab fare if she would just get here immediately.

When Isha arrived less than a half hour later, Helena calmed down. Holding the older woman close, she fixed an angry glare at Alfred as if she blamed him for her mother's absence. Dressed in a bright blue sari, her graying black hair in a tight bun, Isha soothed Helena, speaking softly to her in Hindi.

Bruce called periodically during the day but after speaking with her father, Helena seemed to reject whatever peace Isha had instilled and acted out in a very vocal manner. Isha, unfazed by the tears and tantrums, admonished the girl to behave, gently chastising her at her rudeness to Alfred. The girl listened solemnly then hugged Alfred giving him a sweetly sincere "I'm sorry, Pop Pop" before dashing back to Isha.

After Helena woke from her nap, the afternoon promised to be a repeat of the morning. Alfred begged Isha's forgiveness for leaving and went to the hospital.

"Oh, dear," he said when he first saw Selina. Whatever he felt about Ms. Kyle, her vividness could not be denied. Alfred knew why Bruce found her so appealing, not just her physical allure but there was life to her. Quite the opposite of what he was seeing now. "It's a little shocking to see her like this."

"She put up quite a fight," Bruce said, looking tired and drawn.

"I'm not surprised," Alfred replied with a small smile before pulling a chair to sit next to Bruce. "Any idea who did this?"

Bruce shook his head. "The homicide detective suspects me."

"What?" Alfred exclaimed, offended that someone would consider such a ridiculous thing.

"She thinks I'm the jealous boyfriend."

Alfred frowned, concerned that the new public persona Bruce had carefully cultivated over the last few months would be all for naught if the tabloids caught a whiff of a Wayne scandal. "What are you going to do?"

"Wait for her to wake up," Bruce responded, his eyes on Selina. "Then we'll work with the police to get whoever did this."

Alfred gave him a disbelieving look. "Ms. Kyle doesn't strike me as the sort to rely on the police to solve her problems."

"I'll convince her that's the right thing to do," Bruce said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well.

A nurse arrived to take Selina's vitals and change her IV bags. The young woman worked quickly and efficiently but with tender care for the patient who was oblivious to her ministrations. After she left, Bruce filled Alfred in on the details of Selina's injuries, explaining how the hand surgeon, flown in from the west coast, had carefully set her shattered hand. As he talked, Bruce sounded detached and emotionless but Alfred knew better. Gazing at the man who was like a son to him, his concern swelled as did his irrational anger at the woman causing such distress in both father and daughter.

As they sat together, Alfred chatted quietly telling Bruce about Helena's day.

"I forgot how exhausting toddlers could be," Alfred commented before realizing Bruce was not paying attention.

"I can't believe I thought she'd taken Helena and left!" Bruce exclaimed. "She would never do that."

Alfred's silence indicated he was not convinced. He knew nothing about this woman except she had once stolen from them and then gave birth to Bruce's daughter. His eyes went to Selina's left hand, focusing on the metal pins protruding outside the cast.

"There was a reason we came back, Alfred." Bruce looked at Alfred, willing him to understand. "It was for her."

"I know, sir." Alfred patted Bruce's arm comfortingly, wanting him to know that, as usual, he understood the whys of everything he did. "Speaking of which, it's getting late, sir."

"Yeah?"

Alfred gave him a steady look. "She's asking for her mum, she doesn't need to wonder where you are, too."

"I know," Bruce agreed, looking abashed before looking back at Selina. "I just…I just can't leave her. I don't want her to wake up alone."

"She won't be alone; I'll stay with her until the morning. Then you can bring Isha for a visit. She's quite anxious to see her."

Bruce nodded. "This will upset her."

"Yes," Alfred agreed. "I've noticed she's quite fond of Ms. Kyle."

On his way out, Bruce paused by the door.

"She's really not as bad as she likes to make you think," he said quietly as he met Alfred's doubting gaze.

Before Alfred could respond, Bruce was out the door leaving the older man alone with his thoughts.

* * *

As soon as Bruce walked through the elevator doors, Helena ran to him, hugging his legs tightly until he lifted her. Holding her close, he pushed away his guilt for leaving her scared and wondering at her mother's abrupt absence. She immediately asked about Selina but Bruce was prepared for her questions, giving her answers about Selina visiting a sick friend, smiling as he talked so she would know that everything was okay. Helena looked at him doubtfully but she seemed to accept his explanation. His flimsy excuses would not hold for long, Helena was a clever little girl and even at three she would understand that her mother would never not call her but Bruce refused to subject his daughter to the sight of her beaten mother unconscious in a hospital bed.

Isha met him with a worried look, eager to ask the questions that could not be asked in front of Helena. Fifteen minutes later, after securing Helena in her car seat in Selina's Range Rover, he closed the door and assured Isha that Selina was going to be alright and he would take her to see Selina tomorrow. Isha nodded and asked no more questions that she sensed he did not know the answers. She climbed in the back seat alongside Helena.

Bruce sat in the driver's seat then took Selina's keys out of his pocket and, just before sliding the key into the ignition, he noticed the unfamiliar keys on the ring. Frowning, he stared at the keys realizing for the umpteenth time in the last few days that there was so much he did not know about Selina. He started the vehicle, took note of the mileage, then looked around the car seeing that, save for the area around Helena's car seat, the vehicle looked hardly used. Alfred had purchased the SUV for Selina just after they returned to Gotham six months ago but the vehicle felt impersonal, as if it was a borrowed rental car. Nothing like Selina.

On the drive to Isha's row house in downtown Gotham, Helena chattered happily, telling Isha her version of where her mother was. Isha nodded encouragingly, her eyes sometimes meeting Bruce's in the rearview mirror.

They soon arrived at the modest house where Isha, her daughter, Shanti and Shanti's four children lived together. Before arriving in Gotham, Bruce had researched neighborhoods that the women would be comfortable with and this particular one had a strong Indian presence that seemed to suit the family well.

When they entered the house, Helena ran to play with Shanti's two youngest children. Shanti's oldest son, Sushil, rushed to Bruce, happy to see the man he idolized. He shook Bruce's hand, telling him about school until Isha shooed him away leaving the adults alone so Bruce could explain to Shanti and Isha what had happened. As expected, they offered to help in any way possible. Isha, in particular, wanted to see Selina and stay with her. Bruce promised to take her tomorrow.

With surprising little difficulty, Bruce gathered Helena to leave. She usually playfully hid from her parents when it was time to go but, today, ran to Bruce when he called her, holding his hand tightly as she waved goodbye to Isha and her family.

"Are you hungry?" Bruce later asked as he buckled Helena in her car seat.

"Pizza!"

Bruce smiled at her. The kid had not had pizza until six months ago and could not get enough of it making Bruce wonder what pizza makers were putting in the stuff to make kids wild for it.

They ended up in a garish pizza place that's claim to fame was not the food but the huge play area. Helena's eyes were huge as she took in the big colorful crawling tubes that traversed the length of the restaurant. Pulling her father's hand, she tried to lead him over but he insisted on eating first. Or trying to eat as the pizza was awful but Helena did not notice. After eating her customary five bites, she excitedly pulled him over to the play area where she promptly jumped into the ball pit.

Bruce sat down on a bench in the play area, smiling at Helena as she happily waved to him.

"Gosh, there's nothing more depressing than being at Pizza Fun! on a Tuesday night."

He looked up to see an attractive woman smiling down at him.

"My first time," he said.

"Wow," she replied as her hand went to her blonde hair, smoothing it away from her face. "How did you manage to hold out so long?"

"We've been out of town."

Interpreting his terseness for shyness, the woman sat down next to him.

"How old is your daughter?"

"Three."

"Ah…that's a tough age," she said, with a flirty smile. "I was so happy when we got past the terrible twos then you discover that the threes are even worse!"

"So, I've heard."

She sighed prettily then said, "It's tough being a single parent."

"Oh," Bruce replied. "I'm not single…not a single parent."

"Sorry," she said, more irritated than embarrassed. "I didn't see a wedding ring."

Her interest in talking to him waned considerably for which Bruce was exceedingly grateful. She started to rise but then she gave him a look, the one Bruce had seen many times when people tried to figure out how they knew him. Before she was able to figure him out, he rose, bid her a polite goodbye, and found Helena.

"May I have ice cream?" She asked hesitantly as they looked for her coat.

"No, sweetie, you already had some earlier."

"No, I didn't, Daddy." She said shaking her head, looking at him wide eyed.

He started to correct her then remembered that it was yesterday Jen had given her ice cream.

"Ok." He grinned at her as he wondered how Blake's search for Selina's friend was panning out. Since he had not heard anything, he could only assume Blake had no luck.

Helena ate her ice cream in the car which ended up being a bad idea on his part. As he lifted her out of her car seat, he found clumps of melting ice cream on her clothes and seat. If Selina were here, she would give him that look, the look that said he let Helena get away with too much. If it had been six months ago in India, she would have smiled at him and, together, they would clean up the mess. He missed that Selina and wondered where that woman had disappeared.

After giving Helena a bath, Bruce started to take her to her room to tuck her in but Helena shook her head vigorously, tears in her eyes. He squatted down in front of her, the signal for her to crawl on his back for a piggyback ride. She clung to his neck until he tickled her toes making her squeal with laughter. After tossing her playfully on the big bed in the master bedroom, he lay down beside her. She scooted up close then asked again why mommy did not call. No cell phone reception, he explained which the three year seemed to accept. She soon fell asleep and even though Bruce was exhausted, he lay awake thinking about Selina's keys and all the other clues he missed, hoping she would wake soon.

* * *

_Four Years Earlier_

The train to Florence was to depart in an hour and Selina was nowhere to be found. Bruce had woken to an empty room which was not entirely unusual since Selina sometimes felt the need for an early morning run. He ordered breakfast and when she did not show after a few hours, called her. Then called repeatedly as the time when he wanted to get to the train station approached. He wasn't worried. He was irritated.

While the last few months with Selina had been anything but boring, there were times, like today, when he questioned the reasons they were together. His eye fell on the bed, remembering one of the reasons why. The prior month, Bruce had spent recovering from knee and back surgery. Selina had made the recuperation particularly interesting, finding fun in him being laid up in bed.

Selina finally arrived looking vaguely like something the cat dragged in and not at all like she'd been out for a run but Bruce ignored her wan appearance in favor of his irritation at her almost causing them to miss their train.

"I'm not going," she said, looking very guilty.

"If you think Alfred is going to lecture you about stealing from us, he won't. We probably won't even speak." He had explained the whys of what they were doing in Florence. She had looked at him oddly then shrugged as if she wasn't even going to try to understand the mysterious relationship between Alfred and him.

"No," Selina said, looking him straight in the eye. "I think this is where we need to part ways."

"Why?" Up until yesterday, everything had been good. Sure, they had their ups and downs, sometimes their personalities clashed spectacularly but they had managed to keep the deep stuff out which they both sensed their relationship might not survive.

"It's just better this way," she said, watching him zip up their bags. "We've had our fun together. Why ruin a good thing?"

"What did I do to piss you off?" He stepped close to her, looking down at her face trying to remember when she first seemed…different.

"It's just…" She trailed off, shrugging helplessly. "I'm not mad at you. It's just that…I'm…really tired."

He stared at her trying to understand what she was not telling him. Never let it be said that he would figure out Selina Kyle but they had plans and whatever was going through her head would have to wait.

"Well, sleep on the train because we have to go," he said as he grabbed their bags and headed out the door. When he reached the foyer of their small Swiss hotel, he realized she was not behind him. He hailed a taxi, handed their luggage to the driver, turned to go after her but then she appeared at the door her huge dark sunglasses covering her eyes.

The train was crowded and they were late so they could not find seats together which seemed to suit Selina fine. Without a word to him, she sank into the first available seat and did not seem to care that she was squished between two other passengers. Bruce found a seat in another compartment amidst a group of German tourists who did not get the hint that he was not interested in polite chitchat.

In Milan, they changed trains.

"What is it?" Bruce asked as soon as they sat down in an empty compartment. Selina's uncharacteristic silence was worrying him.

"I can't say it," she said as she looked nervously at the young family that entered the no longer empty compartment. "It's embarrassing," she whispered.

Embarrassing? He did not think Selina got embarrassed over anything. Nothing seemed to faze her except whatever it was that was causing this reaction. He studied her as she looked out the window, her brow scrunched in concern. As they neared Florence, he started to get an inclination of what the problem was and then felt the seeds of something that could be called panic settle over him. He was not sure he was ready for what he thought she was going to tell him.

By the time they reached their hotel room in Florence, Bruce had his response to her announcement firmly in mind. It was a good plan, he decided, with kind, gracious words designed to let her know, as gently as possible, that while he liked her a lot and liked being with her, he just did not feel the same way.

As soon as the door closed behind him and they were truly alone, Selina came to life.

"I can't believe it!" She exclaimed as she paced the floor. She did not spare a glance at the sumptuous surroundings or look out at the dazzling view. "It's not like I haven't done things to prevent this from happening but…" She looked at him accusingly. "Leave it to _you_ to get past my barriers."

Bruce sat down on the bed, now almost positive she was about to spring the L word on him. He did not want her to say those words because that would change everything, and while everything had been so very good between them, he was not even close to being on that level with her.

"I guess it's karma…All the times I felt so superior at people this happened to..." She shook her head ruefully before she looked back at him.

He braced himself for her uncomfortable emotional declaration and was wholly unprepared for:

"I'm pregnant."

He stared at her. Stunned. She stared back, her eyes wide with horror at the voiced word.

"Wait," he said, trying to process her words. "What?"

She resumed her pacing. "I mean how could this happen? Now? In this day and age? It shouldn't happen, that's what!"

Bruce continued to stare at her, she had said the one thing he had not considered in all his imaginings of what could be wrong with her. He forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

"…my mistake," she continued, still pacing. "This is my fault and I'll take care of it."

"I thought…" he began, intending to remind her of the oh-so-brief conversation they had months ago when she assured him that everything was taken care of in the contraception department.

"Yeah, well I thought so, too." She sat down on the bed next to him. "I don't know why I'm telling you since I am not going to have a baby." She glanced at him quickly. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," he said and put an arm around her wanting her to know that he felt exactly as she did.

The next afternoon they went to the café on the Arno and Bruce almost chased Alfred down needing him more than ever but he remembered that he and Selina were definitely not going to have a baby and why put Alfred through all that. After Alfred rushed off, Bruce looked at Selina who was staring into the distance deep in thought.

"Let's get the first train out of here," he said before he gave in to the compulsion to find Alfred and the man talked Bruce out of doing what they were considering.

By the time they arrived in Munich, they had convinced each other that they were not the kind of people to have a baby. They hardly knew each other and Bruce was, in Selina's words, a little fucked up.

"Mind you, I'm not saying I'm a picture of mental health but between us, we're the last people who should be bringing a kid into the world." He took exception to the fucked up remark and they fought a good part of the night until they realized having a baby together would not be so terrible.

The next day, they changed their minds again. A wailing infant and a food-throwing toddler who pitched an ear-shattering tantrum on the floor of the restaurant mocked their decision.

"I never ever thought I would have a kid. Ever," Selina said after the appointment was made.

Bruce had thought about it, had entertained fantasies about married life with Rachel at Wayne Manor with Rachel and him fulfilling the role his parents had left behind. His imaginings had been clouded with perfection. No, this was not how he imagined becoming a father. Certainly not with a former jewel thief who was still a mystery to him and whom he did not fully trust.

Then, in the middle of the night, Selina turned to him and calmly said that as a kid who heard her mother say, on numerous occasions, that her life would be better if only she'd had an abortion, she didn't think she could go through with it.

For the second time in a matter of days, her words stunned him. Bruce could not imagine hearing something like that from a parent and he couldn't help thinking of the child subjected to such damaging words. Selina gave him a don't-you-dare-feel-sorry-for-me look and in her eyes, he could see the tough kid putting on a brave face masking her mass of hurts. It was the truest thing she had offered him in months.

"I don't expect anything from you," she said quietly. "I don't want to trap you..." _Again_ was the word that went unspoken but hovered in the air.

"Alfred always warned me about this sort of thing happening. I should've listened more closely." He tried for a light tone, wanting her to know that he did not blame her and that they were both culpable.

She nodded her head in agreement, her eyes wide with indecision and anxiety.

From Munich, they travelled east, slowly making their way through Austria then to Hungary. For months they existed this way, travelling from country to country and if they were trying to outrun her ever expanding bump, they didn't own up to it. Bruce was hard pressed to figure out who was the most appalled at the situation. Of the two, Selina was the most calm. At least until Kiev when, at seven months, the reality of the coming baby seemed to finally hit her.

"I have no business doing this!" She cried, angry at the tears rolling down her face. "Fucking hormones!"

"Selina," Bruce said. "I think it's going to be ok." And for the first time, he believed it.

"Really?" She asked, desperate to believe him.

"I think we both know what is going to happen," he said quietly, his hand on her belly.

"That's what scares me." Selina replied, putting her hand over his.

As he looked at the woman lying next to him, her dark eyes shining with fear and hope, he realized he would not want to be in this situation with anyone else.

* * *

After a restless night, Bruce woke with Helena's feet in his face. He rearranged her before putting his arm around her, pulling her close. She slept deeply, not rousing at the movement. Waiting for her to wake, he remained thus until six o'clock rolled around and she woke asking about her mother. He reminded her of the reason for Selina's absence telling her mommy would be home soon then distracted her with talk of pancakes.

He spent the day driving all over town. First, Bruce dropped off Helena with Shanti as he took Isha to the hospital. He and Alfred watched helplessly as Isha tearfully fretted over Selina, smoothing her hair over the bandages, stroking her uninjured hand. Her eyes lifted and met Bruce's. The question very clear in her eyes: What was he going to do about this? With a slight shake of his head, he told her things were different here and they would wait for the police. She frowned then told Bruce she would stay until he returned later in the night after Helena went to bed.

Dr. Rathburn arrived to brief him on Selina's progress. He assured Bruce that Selina would wake soon as they were reducing the sedatives. Bruce was torn, wanting to be there when she woke but knowing that Helena needed him more than her unconscious mother did, he told Isha to call the moment anything changed.

After picking up Helena, he took her to Wayne Enterprises. They took his private elevator to his office in a nondescript part of the building. Wanting to escape scrutiny, he had chosen an office in an underused and insignificant area. Helena fell asleep on his couch while he worked to salvage the business deal that was supposed to be finalized in DC before he unexpectedly left.

By the time he returned to the hospital at eight, he was exhausted. The prior two nights of uneasy rest were taking its toll, he was out of practice for sleepless nights.

He called a taxi for Isha and as soon as she left, sank in the chair by Selina's side and fell asleep. Waking only when a nurse arrived to replenish Selina's meds. When he looked up, the nurse smiled at him before returning to her work.

Rubbing his eyes, he almost went back to sleep but then he noticed something very wrong about the nurse. At her ankle, he saw the distinct outline of a holstered gun. As she prepared to inject something into Selina's IV, he sprang up, knocking the syringe out of her hand. The woman whirled around, deftly delivering a surprisingly powerful punch to his face. Undaunted, he grabbed her, meaning to throw her to the floor but she skillfully fought back. Her eyes showed her surprise as she recognized a trained fighter when she met one then her eyes narrowed in irritation. It was obvious she was not expecting any resistance from Bruce, thinking this hit was going to be easy money.

In the blink of an eye, a blade was in her hand and before he knew what was happening, she slashed his arm. When he reacted, she kicked him in the abdomen then she reached for her gun. Bruce grabbed her hand, yanking her off balance then kicked her knee sending her crashing into the IV stand. A nurse arrived, horrified, Bruce yelled at her to call security. The woman rose from the floor, gun in hand. Bruce swatted it away, the Glock sliding across the floor under the bed. Unmindful of the pain in his arm, he managed to subdue her, pinning her to the floor. The woman, however, had no intention of getting caught and after feigning surrender; she head butted him then punched his throat causing him to release her. Springing up, she quickly looked for her gun but the commotion of hospital security nearing made her change her mind.

Before making her escape, she turned to Bruce and said, "She's not worth it, Mr. Wayne."


	6. New Friends

A/N: Hello there! I need to point out that Selina is not going to wake up any time soon. Hope that isn't too disappointing but you will see her in flashback scenes. There should be a flashback scene per chapter unless I get confused or I go too long about something which is entirely possible. Hopefully that won't happen.

As always, thank you for reading!

* * *

**New Friends**

_Three Years Ago_

The late January night was bitter cold and the heater in their apartment did not heat as it should. Under mounds of covers, Bruce and Selina lay together, on their sides, dressed warmly. Bruce slept deeply, his arm over Selina, holding her close. Selina lay awake, one hand absently stroking his arm, the other rested on her belly feeling the baby move within her. Her thoughts, however, focused not on the baby or the man sleeping next to her, but on home and her old life. Never would she have thought she would miss Gotham but sometimes on nights like this when it was cold and sleep eluded her, being thousands of miles from home made her lonesome.

With two Selina's due date rapidly approaching, Bruce had found a well regarded birthing clinic in a small city on the Black Sea. The town was a noted summer vacation destination with beaches, an amusement park and a boardwalk lined with garish tourist traps but, in the winter, the town was devoid of tourists except for Bruce and Selina who sometimes wondered why they ended up in this place of all places.

They found a cozy apartment in a building where they were the youngest residents by at least thirty years. The other tenants regarded the young American couple with distant curiosity until they realized Selina was pregnant then the gaggle of widows enthusiastically welcomed them, eager for a chance to hold a newborn. The women fed the American couple regularly, offering Selina Russian comfort food that they promised was good for the baby. Being fussed over in such a manner was entirely foreign to Selina but her irritation at being the center of matronly attention didn't last long. Mostly because Bruce liked her receiving so much attention, especially with the home cooked meals.

Bruce did not wake as she slowly scooted away from him to get up, his unconscious mind accustomed to her restlessness and need to get up often in the night. After raiding the tiny kitchenette for the closest thing to peanut butter she could find, she shrugged on Bruce's heavy coat, slid on gloves and a hat, grabbed her phone and stepped out into the hall of the apartment house. As expected, it was quiet and cold but she welcomed her solitude in the communal space that would remain empty until daybreak.

With some difficulty, she eased down, sitting on the top step in the stairwell. She called home, checking in with friends to see how they were doing and get the latest gossip but mostly just to hear their voices.

"What is this talking?!" A gruff voice boomed at her from the first floor.

Selina did not have to look to see who the angry speaker was. When she and Bruce moved in, an ancient former Soviet soldier who lived in the apartment directly below them, eyed the young American couple with suspicion and dislike, barking at them to keep their American dancing to daylight hours as he liked to go to bed early. In the few weeks since they arrived, he had not wavered in his ire and always sent them a grumpy glare before disappearing into his apartment.

"I'm on the phone!" She yelled at him, affecting her most intimidating lower Gotham accent.

"I hear that!" He shook his cane at her. "It's the middle of the night, American girl!"

"Not in Gotham," she murmured but ended the call with a whispered, "I'll call you later."

The elderly man remained outside his door, watching her as she awkwardly stood up. When she was on her feet, he loudly cleared his throat and beckoned her to his apartment. She gave him an apprehensive look, not at all eager to receive a lecture from the stern man.

"Yes! You! Come!" He bellowed, banging his cane on the floor.

Selina slowly descended the stairs, feeling like she was being called into the principal's office. He did not wait but went inside, leaving the door open for her. Selina stepped across the threshold and almost sighed in pleasure. The old man's apartment was deliciously warm.

"So here's where all the heat's going," she commented as she looked around the surprisingly comfortable room. She had imagined the man lived a Spartan life with a cot, a single metal chair, and whatever else military types favored to decorate their homes. She was unprepared for the dozens and dozens of pictures that lined the walls; military pictures, simple paintings, but mostly family photographs.

"Sorry I woke you," Selina said with an apologetic look, finally seeing the lonely man behind the gruff exterior. Since she was feeling a little lonesome herself, she recognized a kindred spirit.

"You didn't wake me," he replied as he walked slowly to his kitchen that was as small as Bruce and Selina's but felt bigger somehow. Homier. "I sleep not so good myself."

Selina followed him to the kitchen, watching as he filled a pot with water, and then set it on the stove.

"Then why do you get so mad?" she asked.

"I'm Soviet officer," he said as if that explained everything. "Americans make me suspicious."

"Afraid we'll get all your Soviet secrets out of you?" She asked, liking the man.

He smiled. "You are not nearly as loud as I feared."

"I'm not exactly in dancing shape."

Selina studied the old man as he studied her, each dropping their earlier opinions of each other.

"You are lovely," he said with an amiable look.

The unexpected compliment surprised her. Maybe because she was feeling decidedly unlovely, despite Bruce's assurances to the contrary, but the old man's kind words touched her, making her feel uncharacteristically shy. "Thank you."

"Your husband is wondering where you are now?" He asked as he handed her a cup of hot tea.

Selina shook her head. "He's a surprisingly heavy sleeper," she said, deciding not to correct him about her marital status.

"Surprising?" He asked, his curiosity piqued. "Why? He is soldier? He has soldier look about him, yes?"

"He does, doesn't he? But, no, he's not a soldier," she said, thinking that Bruce was, in many respects, soldier-like, leading a pretty regimented life. Now that his knee and back were healed and even though they'd spent the last few months travelling almost continuously, he managed to keep a vigorous exercise routine that made Selina tired thinking about it. Though she never minded watching his daily push up routine.

"Why are you here?" The man asked, settling into an easy chair. He beckoned her to sit in the comfortable chair that matched his.

"You invited me," Selina replied with a mischievous grin, knowing what he meant.

"None of that," he chided. "Answer question, American."

"It's a long story."

He gazed at her expectantly, waiting patiently for her to speak.

Where to start? Selina wondered. How could she describe her odd but intense relationship with a billionaire whom she met while robbing him. How she was eight and half months pregnant by a man who used to suit up and fight criminals. Of which she used to be one.

"Well…we…uh…" she began, trying to think of a way to explain Bruce and her and their relationship without really explaining anything.

"I thought it was a simple question," he commented with a smile in his faded blue eyes.

"You thought wrong."

"How about an easier question?"

"Yes, please," she replied, taking a sip of her tea.

"What did you do in America?"

So much for easy questions. "Um…I was…self employed."

"What is that?"

"It means that I had my own business."

"Ah…You are a capitalist."

"Yes," Selina agreed, nodding, liking how the word applied to her. "Exactly. A capitalist."

"And what did Miss Capitalist do?"

"Acquisitions."

He shook his head, not understanding the word.

"I acquired things," she explained but he continued looking at her uncomprehendingly. "I persuaded people to part with things they didn't want to part with."

He smiled. "I imagine you were very good at that."

She grinned back at him. "I was."

"But now…?"

Her grin softened into sincere smile. "Now I'm waiting to have a baby."

"Have you been married long time?"

Wow, Selina thought, this guy sure had a knack for asking the wrong questions.

"Were you a KGB interrogator?" She asked.

"No. And I thought that last question very easy."

Selina started to offer some random number of years then stopped. Lies didn't spring quite so easily to her lips anymore. Half-truths and outright withholding of information were more her style now but stories designed specifically to deceive? She had no interest in telling this lonely and grouchy old man fabrications. Despite herself, she liked him. "We're not married."

He looked pointedly at her belly.

"Yeah, well, this caught us by surprise."

"Good surprise, yes?"

She reclined back on the chair, her hand stroking her belly. "I'm starting to think so."

"And him?"

"He's more excited than he lets on." That was an understatement. After a few months and as she started to show, their constant state of shock had made way to wary anticipation. Only in the last weeks did Selina think about the baby with excitement. With Bruce, he had given over to excitement long before her, reading everything on the subject of pregnancy and childbirth.

"That is true for most men. When my wife have baby…" He trailed off, his eyes misting before going to one of the photographs on the wall. "I don't wish to talk of my wife," he said quietly.

Selina looked up at the photo of a beautiful woman, smiling happily, her dark hair prettily styled in the fashion of fifty years ago. She imagined the old man in front of her as a young man taking the photo, the object of the woman's love-filled gaze.

"Do you play?" He asked, gesturing at the chess set, wanting a change of subject.

"Sorry, no. But I'm sure Bruce does," Selina added at his disappointed look.

"Who?"

She pointed upstairs and, speak of the devil, her phone buzzed indicating a text message.

"That's him," Selina said, knowing exactly who it was without having to look.

"He worries you are giving birth now."

"He's just wondering where I am in the middle of the night."

"Trust me, American girl, he thinks the baby will give birth in a dark alley surrounded by wolves."

"Yeah, probably." She said as she texted Bruce that she was fine and would be back in bed soon. "But I have no intention of doing that. I want a comfortable room with access to painkillers. I should go…"

She pushed herself up, walked to the door, already missing the heat. She paused at the door, turning back to the man who remained in his easy chair. "I'm Selina, by the way."

"Vladmir Dmitrovich Balashov."

As she opened the door, he called out, "Bring him for chess tomorrow."

It was not an invitation but an order.

She nodded, thanked him for the tea and stepped out into the hall that was at least forty degrees colder.

At the landing between floors, she saw Bruce at their door, intending to look for her. He looked relieved when he saw her.

"You don't have to come out here to make a call," he said, as she walked up the steps.

"I didn't want to wake you," she replied and that was partly true. She hadn't wanted to wake him but the real reason, and Bruce knew it, was there were still parts of herself that she wasn't ready to share with him. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes Selina felt like she was being consumed by him, by their baby, her life careening out of control. Preserving that bit of her life that was all hers was of great importance to her. Bruce seemed to understand that, not pushing or prodding, maybe sensing that some skeletons should stay in the closet.

"You're warm," he said, as he led her into their room, closing the door behind her.

"You'll never guess where I was," she said, unbuttoning his coat.

He looked at her inquisitively as he helped her out of the overlarge black coat.

"Colonel Cranky's place."

"Really?" He asked, surprised. He tossed the coat on a chair near the door. "Did he yell at you for something?"

"Not really. He's actually very nice."

"If you say so," Bruce replied, sounding doubtful.

"I told him you would play chess with him."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"Why in the world would you say that?"

"Because I feel bad for him. And, he's lonely for his wife. And," she added just in case the lonely old man scenario didn't persuade him. "I'm hugely pregnant."

His hand touched her belly and he smiled that smile that made her forget her homesickness. "You can only use that excuse for a few more weeks."

"I know," she gazed back at him, unable to keep the happy smile from her lips. "I've got to use it while I can."

"I guess I can't complain since you're using your power for good," Bruce said before kissing her.

By the end of the week, Balashov was their new best friend.

The first chess match between Balashov and Bruce was particularly interesting. Bruce had severely underestimated the ninety-three year old's chess ability.

"The American thinks he can beat Russian at chess?" Balashov asked, chuckling at Bruce's confounded expression when he announced checkmate.

Bruce quickly set up another game, eager to meet the challenge.

Bruce and Selina fell into the habit of spending their evenings in Balashov's warm apartment with Bruce and Balashov playing chess while Selina read. After a few days, the old man felt began talking about his beloved wife of seventy years who had passed away the year before.

"She was the most beautiful woman in Russia. And she loved me." He smiled at them.

Selina liked listening to him and even though Bruce appeared engrossed in the game, she knew he listened and was as interested as her. Maybe it was that they were alone together in a strange city waiting for a stranger to take over their lives, but Selina sensed that Bruce, like her, craved stories of people with truly happy lives.

Selina's due date came and went. Balashov encouraged her to have a shot of vodka to help chase the little one out. Selina was almost tempted but Bruce's horrified expression convinced her otherwise. She thought it best not to tell him that since her mother dropped acid while she was pregnant with her, she didn't think a little shot of vodka could be too bad. And she was so very ready for this baby to be born.

She sat on Mrs. Balashov's chair with her feet propped on a little stool, reading a horrible book that was the only novel in English she could find in the city. Bruce plotted his next move against Balashov as the old man recounted the story of how he met his wife. Selina listened as she read, the book was not good enough to warrant her full attention. As she read a wholly unrealistic description of a safe-cracking plot, she felt the first contraction.

"What time is it?" She asked, her body going still.

Bruce checked his watch as he prepared to move his bishop. "9:08," he said absently, typically offering a precise answer which Selina had been expecting.

Selina took a deep, quiet breath, relaxed and waited, listening to Balashov while gazing at the pictures that told the story of Balashov's life. She felt oddly peaceful, quite unlike what she had imagined would be her mental state at this time. The next contraction hit, confirming to her that her labor had begun.

"What time is it now?" She asked after the contraction eased and her voice would sound normal. She had little interest in causing a stir.

"What, you have date?" Balashov asked, scanning the chessboard trying to figure out Bruce's plan.

She stood up and moved the clock on the mantle so she wouldn't have to ask and sat back down.

The minutes ticked by and Balashov stopped talking as he watched her watch the clock, then nudged Bruce to look at her. The game forgotten, the two men watched her. Just as she was about to tell them to stop she felt another contraction.

"Ok, yeah, this is it," she said and Bruce rushed to her looking both excited and worried.

"This is very exciting!" Balashov announced as Bruce helped her to the door.

"Is it bad?" Bruce asked, looking over her anxiously.

"It's not too bad. Better than I thought," she assured him feeling like a super woman but ten hours later she was singing a different tune. Demanding, in sharp language she wasn't sure the Russian midwife could understand, something to ease the never-ending pain.

Another two hours, almost a year to the day since the bomb went off, their daughter was born.

* * *

Each morning, Alfred woke before the sun rose, set a pot of tea to boil in the electric teapot on the sideboard in his private sitting room. While the water heated, he went out to fetch the Gotham Herald that was delivered to the penthouse by six a.m. then enjoyed his English Breakfast in the comfort of his favorite chair as he perused the day's news. It was a cherished ritual. This morning, however, he found a yellow post-it note affixed to the chrome kettle. 'Helena is with me. Will call when you get up. Be nice to David.'

David? Alfred didn't like the sound of that. As soon as he emerged from his room, he met a thirtyish man with a military style haircut in a dark blue suit.

"Good morning, Mr. Pennyworth," he greeted with a friendly smile. "I'm David."

"Good for you," Alfred replied, irritably. He hated early morning mysteries. "And what are you doing here?"

Instead of responding, David handed Alfred a cell phone.

"Alfred," Bruce said, sounding deliberately upbeat. "Meet your new best friend."

Alfred frowned; that particular tone meant Bruce would soon be delivering troubling news.

"What's this about?" he asked as he eyed the tall man who gazed at him emotionlessly.

"I'll explain when you get to the storage container. David will drive you."

"He will, will he?"

"Alfred. Please."

Bruce's serious tone gave him pause. Alfred looked at the man standing before him more closely, seeing the muscular physique as well as the slight protruding of something under the man's suit coat: a shoulder holster. Alfred's eyebrows lifted in consternation. Something serious must have happened for Master Wayne to allow an armed stranger into their house.

"I'll be there in half an hour," Alfred said.

"Thank you. Bring some milk for Helena, please. And cash," Bruce said before ending the call.

"Bloody hell," Alfred murmured as he handed the phone to his new best friend.

Fifteen minutes later, Alfred and David took the private elevator to the parking garage. When he stepped out, Alfred noticed a deliberately nondescript van parked near the entrance. David nodded to someone sitting in the van before opening the back door to the Rolls Royce and waited for Alfred to get in. Alfred's eyes narrowed, not liking being driven around. He was the driver, after all.

"I have my orders, Mr. Pennyworth," David said in a slightly less friendly tone than earlier.

As they drove out of the garage, another vehicle, a black sedan, pulled up behind them. David did not seem alarmed and the vehicle soon fell back a safe distance ensuring that no one followed Alfred. They took a confusing route to the storage container, taking an extra half hour to get there. Alfred recognized the tactic of losing any possible tails and his worry grew.

They finally reached the storage container that Alfred hoped he would never revisit. David parked the car just outside the gate, got out and unlocked the gate, holding it open for Alfred.

"Mr. Wayne instructed me to wait here," he explained as he closed the gate behind him.

Alfred made his way through the throng of containers until he reached the familiar red one. Closing the door behind him, he rode the lift downward, not liking the feeling that he had stepped back in time.

His sense of familiarity increased when he saw Bruce perched at the console, all screens active. The familiarity ended, however, when Alfred saw that, at his feet, Helena lay under the console. Resting atop folded blankets, she was busy eating what looked like a Pop Tart and watching a laptop propped in front of her on the floor.

"I could have brought her something better than that," Alfred called out as he walked toward Bruce. He squatted down beside the console, unscrewing the cap to the thermos then pouring out the cold milk into the cup. Helena smiled and thanked him as she took the milk then returned to watching her favorite show about a blue octopus.

"You've been busy," Alfred remarked, gesturing at the new hardware plugged into the computers. He decided to wait to ask about the bandage on Bruce's forearm that was just barely revealed under the long sleeved pullover Bruce had donned, probably to hide the injury from Helena.

"I had to update the systems," Bruce replied.

"In the middle of the night?"

Bruce stood and beckoned Alfred to follow him so they could talk without Helena hearing.

"Someone tried to kill Selina last night," Bruce said, quietly as if he worried the words would carry to Helena from even this distance.

"Is that what that is?" Alfred pointed at the bandage on Bruce's arm. "Do I need to have a look at it?"

Bruce shook his head. "I finally learned that if you're going to get slashed with a knife, a hospital is a great place to do that."

"That's not funny." Alfred looked at him without amusement. "What happened? Is Ms. Kyle alright?"

"She's exactly the same, Alfred," Bruce said woodenly before turning to face him. "It was a professional, Alfred. A good one but she wasn't expecting me."

"No. I suspect not," Alfred replied. "How good was this person?"

"Good enough to do this and get away." Bruce gestured at his wounded arm and then Alfred saw a flash of that angry look he'd seen all too many times on that much loved face.

"I'm sure Ms. Kyle will wake soon then answer all our questions," Alfred offered, trying to stave off the inevitable.

"Alfred, that hit woman and I fought. Fought hard and loudly, knocking things over. Enough of a racket that the nurse heard the ruckus fifty feet away but Selina didn't hear a thing. Didn't move a muscle. Nothing." Bruce looked away, his anxiety about Selina's welfare clear. "I don't think she's going to wake anytime soon and there's no way I'm going to sit back and wait for them to make another move on her."

"The good ones are expensive," Alfred observed, his mind shifting gears into investigative mode.

Bruce nodded in agreement.

"Yet," Alfred said with a sigh. "We're left with the same questions as before."

"But now we know that there's someone with money behind this. Someone with the resources to hire a professional killer." Bruce looked over at Helena, watching her munch on her pop tart, blissfully oblivious to the drama unfolding around her. "Someone who wants Selina dead and will pay good money to see that happen."

He walked to Helena. "I'm going to talk to Pop Pop okay?" He said before pulling her, laughingly, along with her pallet across the floor to rest outside of earshot. He kissed her head then went back to the console. Alfred set her milk and the laptop in front of her.

With a quick look at Helena to ensure she was engrossed in her show, Bruce turned on the monitors.

"I think whatever Selina was doing," Bruce said. "She was protecting her identity. She knew who she was up against. That's why she went to great lengths to keep her identity protected. The day she was…injured, she parked the SUV at 8:50 a.m. in a mall parking garage that gets lots of traffic." He pointed to the screen with the image of Selina leaving the Range Rover in the parking structure. She was dressed as Alfred had seen her that dreadful morning, in casual workout clothes. 'Mom clothes' she sometimes called them.

"Then," Bruce continued. "She left her car, the vehicle that could be traced to us. I searched the security feed but can't find how she leaves the mall. She found a blind spot somewhere, then disappeared and can't be picked up on any other mall camera."

"Then she takes another vehicle. One not traceable to us." Alfred nodded, understanding. "So she was successful at keeping her secret up until…"

"Until I showed up at the warehouse," Bruce said, grimly.

"And now they know who she is."

"And who is important to her."

Alfred smiled. "I'm flattered you included me in the 'important to her' category, sir."

"I'm not taking any chances, Alfred. I don't know what's going on here or who we're up against. I'm not going to assume some local thugs are angry about a drug deal gone bad. Our visitor from last night says otherwise."

"What are you going to do?"

"What I should have done the moment I found her."

Alfred didn't miss his quick glance to where the suit once rested under the floor.

"Don't blame yourself, Master Wayne. You did the right thing," Alfred said. "That part of your life is over. Batman is dead."

"And he stays dead. This is now about me. They know who we are, who our daughter is. If they can't get to Selina, they may find a way to use Helena as leverage against her." Bruce's voice turned hard and cold. "That is not going to happen."

"You can't go around town beating up people as Bruce Wayne!" Alfred exclaimed, always concerned about Bruce and the obsessions that sometimes overtook him.

"Worried about lawsuits?" Bruce asked.

Alfred sighed, knowing he would never persuade Bruce to abandon something once he set his mind to it. He didn't blame Bruce, though. With the little one threatened, even indirectly, her father simply could not sit by and rely on hired security to keep her safe. He wanted, and deserved, answers.

Bruce turned back to the computer, bringing up the image of the man found at the crime scene. "I think whatever she was doing involves him," he said quietly, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

Alfred studied the photograph of the body found at the crime scene. The photo was cropped so that the damage to the head was not visible.

"That's a prison tattoo," he said, pointing at one of the tattoos on the man's hand.

"Yes," Bruce said. "But he's not in the system."

"That's impossible. If he's been in prison, he has a record."

"Not if you have a program that erases you from every database."

"Is there such a thing?"

"There was," Bruce said, looking steadily at the image of the dead man. "I gave it to Selina and she used it to eradicate her past."

"I wondered about that." Alfred had been perplexed at the lack of data regarding Ms. Kyle when he specifically remembered her having a detailed and long record.

"I think she used the Clean Slate on this guy. It's the only explanation why his prints came up with nothing."

Someone from her past, Alfred thought, but who? And, what was he to her? He thought of Rachel and the pull of people from the past.

"Blake mentioned that the John Doe looked like a heavy drug user," Alfred pointed out as much to assure himself as well as Bruce that he did not think Selina would pine for an addict.

"The police should have a toxicology report soon but…," he said, as he glanced at Helena. "I just can't see Selina involved in a drug deal. That doesn't feel right."

"Well, that Clean Slate makes it difficult to find anything about our John Doe, sir."

"It does."

Alfred studied Bruce, taking note of the tiredness and tension in his bearing. "Blake can help," he said.

"That's not necessary."

"Why not?"

"For one, I heard he gets into trouble with Gordon."

"He got in trouble because he got shot," Alfred explained.

"He shouldn't be getting shot!" Bruce exclaimed, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have…"

"No, you did just the right thing. I admit he's not as flashy as you were but he does help. And nothing would give him greater honor than helping Batman. He's very useful, you know. Useful for more than moving cars."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. You need him. He can go places, talk to people that Bruce Wayne can't." Alfred gazed at Bruce intently, willing him to understand. "Unless you're planning on inventing a new persona..."

"I'm not."

"Good," Alfred said. "I'd hate to have to think up another costume. No telling what animal you would choose."

"Helena is partial to koalas," Bruce said, grinning at him.

"Only you could make those scary."

"Don't worry, Alfred. I can be very low key. Even without a mask."

"I know that, sir," Alfred said with a quick glance at Bruce's bandaged arm. "Just take Blake with you if you're going anywhere…iffy."

"Alright, Alfred," Bruce agreed.

"Very good, sir," Alfred said with a grin, feeling as if he'd won a major battle.

Bruce nodded, knowing he'd pleased Alfred enormously. "Oh, can you call Miriam Wackford-Squeers and get a guest list for that Christmas party?"

"Why? Are you adding a soiree to our already busy schedule?"

"The party's where this all started. Selina was different after that night. Something must have happened."

"A victim?"

"I don't know but this…" he gestured to the screen that still showed the photograph of the John Doe. "Seems excessive for someone who got robbed."

"Maybe she did more than burgle houses," Alfred said quietly.

"Maybe." Bruce replied before he called out to Helena to gather her things and shut down the laptop.

"Who's with Ms. Kyle now?" Alfred asked.

"A security detail," Bruce said as he powered down the computer systems. "Her room will be watched 'round the clock. They'll keep out anyone not on my approved list of visitors. Until I figure out what is happening, David up there is your shadow."

"And Miss Helena? Is she staying down here the whole time?"

Bruce looked over at her, smiling as she looked up at him. "I thought about it," he said with a wry grin. "But no, nothing changes for her. I don't want her to sense anything is different. She's already worried about her mother. She doesn't need to be afraid of something we don't understand."

"What do you want me to do?" Alfred asked.

"You can take her to Prospect Park. Or, if you're feeling daring, there's a God awful pizza place with a ball pit."

"We'll stick with the park." Alfred had heard of those places and had no interest in setting foot in one.

"Good. I've already alerted the security detail and they are setting up a perimeter."

"Sounds fun."

"She won't know they're there," Bruce said. "Also, David is our new chauffeur in case anyone asks."

"A butler with a chauffeur? I'll be the envy of house servants everywhere."

After Bruce shrugged on his coat, Alfred handed him a thick stack of cash, all hundred-dollar bills. "I didn't know how much you'd need."

"You don't want me beating up anyone, so I'll have to get answers with cash," he said, as he tucked the money into his pocket.

"Much less painful that way, sir."

Bruce turned to his daughter. "Helena! Turn that off! Now!"

Helena looked alarmed, unused to her father raising his voice at her. Bruce went over to her, hugged her in apology, and talked quietly to her until she beamed at him. Then, smiling and teasing, he helped her get her things together. She took his hand and they walked back to Alfred.

"I need to pick up Isha and take her to the…H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L," Bruce said. "Then I'm going to check out a few things but I'll be home for dinner."

"What sort of things?" Alfred asked, taking Helena's other hand.

"I'm going to the…" he looked down at Helena who was more interested in trying to get them to swing her as they walked. "…C-R-I-M-E scene."

"In broad daylight?"

"I own the building, Alfred," Bruce said with a grin as the three headed to the lift. "Why not?"


	7. A Lead

A/N: So sorry for the delay. Again! Sadly, another update probably won't appear for the next month since this is the busiest time of the year at the office. Thanks for your patience!

Also, apologies to any Russian readers about how I've mangled Russian names and customs and whatnot. J

* * *

_Russia- Three Years Earlier_

Bruce and Selina engaged in their new favorite pastime: watching the baby sleep. Which she did non-stop. The quiet of the small apartment was interrupted only by the small sounds of the baby, each noise bringing a smile to the besotted new parents. With the newborn between them, they lay on their sides gazing wonderingly at the tiny person who had taken over their lives.

"We should probably give her a name," Selina said quietly, alternating between watching their daughter and watching Bruce as he stared at the baby.

"Probably," Bruce agreed, touching the baby's soft hand. "Any ideas?"

"So much pressure," Selina replied, thinking that this perfect creature deserved a perfect name. "She'll be stuck with whatever we choose forever."

They tossed names back and forth not finding one that fit and it was another two days before they finally found the perfect one.

Balashov had invited them for dinner, luring them out of their apartment with promises of warmth and Borscht. It was his wife's special recipe and the elderly man was proud to prepare his favorite dish for the American couple who had become important to him in such a short time. They couldn't refuse such an offer and left their apartment for the first time since they had returned with the baby.

The baby slept silently in Bruce's arms as they crept down the stairs avoiding the creaky steps. They hoped to evade the attention of the other tenants who always found the slightest excuse to knock on their door to see the newborn. Selina was far more tolerant of the intrusions letting the elderly widows hold their daughter while Bruce hovered close waiting to catch the baby if one of the women happened to drop her.

They entered the apartment to find Balashov seated on his favorite chair. He beckoned them closer, holding out his arms to hold the baby.

"You think I know nothing of babies?" Balashov asked at Bruce's concerned look. The aged man radiated fragility but Selina suspected the old soldier had the strength to safely hold their daughter.

"Don't be offended. Bruce thinks everyone is going to drop her," Selina said as she gave Bruce a fondly teasing smile.

"Never," Balashov said as Bruce placed the newborn in his arms. "It's been decades since I've held one but I know not to let go."

Bruce sat on the edge of his chair, nervous, for a few minutes until he seemed to persuade himself to relax and trust Balashov. Knowing how difficult it was for him not to worry, Selina patted his shoulder before sitting on the arm of his chair. The apartment fell silent as they all gazed at the newborn.

"She brings you joy, yes?" Balashov asked them.

Joy. There was the word that had eluded Selina to describe what she had been feeling in the days since the baby's birth. The word was a familiar one, of course, but she had never experienced that emotion and now Selina finally understood the meaning of joy.

"She does," Selina said, leaning over to caress the baby's soft dark hair.

Balashov angled the baby to present her to the photo of his wife. The cherished photograph sat on the little table next to his chair always within his sight. "Helena, look at this precious baby!"

Selina's eyes met Bruce's and they knew they had a name for their daughter. If Selina had thought about it, which she assuredly did not, she would have marveled and been slightly alarmed to find herself so in sync with another person. It had happened naturally enough; the last months of pregnancy, the birth and now the arrival of the love of their lives had forged a unity she had never experienced.

Upon learning of the baby's name, Balashov beamed with pride. Unashamed, his eyes teared as he thanked them for the honor.

"She will do very well with such a name," Balashov told them. "My Helena will watch over yours."

Weeks later when Bruce received the paperwork formalizing Helena's existence as the Wayne heir, he paused over the last name.

"It's gotta be Wayne," Selina said. Other than her existence, her name was the only thing her parents had given her and it was pretty worthless at that.

"We could hyphen it," Bruce replied, casting her an uncertain look.

"Bruce, my name doesn't mean a thing to me. But yours?" Her gaze returned to the baby nursing at her breast. "Your name opens every door for her. Mine…not so much."

That was another something Selina had not expected about motherhood; the desire for everything to be perfect for the little person that she brought into the world. Helena as Selina Kyle's daughter was all well and good but Helena as Bruce Wayne's daughter was momentous.

"I want her to have…everything," Selina said softly, feeling an unexpected rush of emotion.

Bruce set down the stacks of papers and sat next to her on the bed. She didn't have to explain what she meant, why it was important that Helena have choices and options that she never had. He got it.

"But I get to pick the middle name," Selina added with a mischievous grin. In their search for a name, Selina had come up with a few that, from his expression, pained Bruce to hear.

"Prudence?" He asked, going through her list of names. "Lucy? Julia? Rita?"

"Lovely Rita…" Selina recited.

"Let's hope she aspires to more than being a meter maid." He kissed her lightly before continuing her list of names. "Michelle? Eleanor?"

"Helena Eleanor? I'm not a cruel person." Privately, Selina thought Pearl would be a good one but she didn't want to lie to her daughter when she would eventually ask how she ended up with such a name. "Elise."

"I don't know that one."

"A sad song," Selina said as she passed the baby to him. "But one of my favorites."

Bruce nodded not understanding but any other follow-up questions were forgotten as the baby distracted him. Just as Selina had known would happen. She was very clever with the parceling of information about her past and if Bruce noticed, which he undoubtedly did, he never called her on it.

Finding any excuse to knock on their door, the widows of the building continued to bring food and gifts. Helena had amassed quite a collection of homemade booties, sweaters, hats and blankets. The women offered many suggestions on baby care as they passed Helena between them. Ever vigilant, Bruce watched, uncomfortable, but trying not to be rude in his desire to get Helena back.

"They could drop her. Or get her sick," he complained later when they sat down for dinner at a café. He handed Helena to Selina who curled the baby close as she took the menu the waiter offered. "You don't seem very worried."

"I'm not," Selina said absently as she tried to decipher the menu. "If I survived infancy, anybody can."

"What does that mean?" Bruce asked sharply.

Selina looked up to meet his concerned gaze. "It means that my parents were two idiot teenagers who probably never visited a pediatrician and definitely never consulted a baby book and I lived."

Her words sounded harsh and defensive to her ears. She didn't want him feeling sorry for her but telling stories about her parents invited pity. Pity she didn't want or deserve because she'd long ago accepted the reality of the people her parents were. To an outsider, her relationship with Jimmy and Lisa would seem sad but it wasn't sad to her. Not anymore.

"I'm just saying kids are tougher than they seem," Selina added, closing the door on the parents she had gladly excised from her life. At his knowing look, she felt a tinge of guilt and cracked the door on a safer aspect of her life.

"One of my best friends has three kids," she told him. "The first one she worried about everything. The second one, not so much. The third? Well, the kid could eat off the floor and nobody cared. And they are all healthy, happy kids."

Selina smiled at him, feeling pleased with herself. Bruce looked like he knew what she was up to but he also looked like he wanted to return to the previous topic.

"DeeDee," she answered the question he didn't ask. "My most legitimate best friend. Legitimate in that she's not a criminal but a mom with a real job and a real husband. I know," she said at his surprised look. "Shocking, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed, leaning back in his chair waiting for her to elaborate. Her guilt surfaced again at how absurdly interested he was in the few crumbs of information she offered.

"DeeDee is…my equal friend. She doesn't need anything from me except friendship which is a refreshing change. I can rely on her, have fun with her and the best thing is I'm not responsible for her."

Their food arrived. Selina shifted Helena so she held her with one arm while she ate.

"You remember Jen?" she asked after the waiter left. "I tend to find people like that. People I have to take care of or…mentor."

"Mentor?" He asked, amused at her choice of words. "So, she was your protégé?"

"Yes!" She nodded, grinning at him, feeling more comfortable with the direction of the conversation. Strangely enough, it was the tales of thievery and conning that she felt most comfortable imparting to him. She hadn't shied away from providing details of jobs gone wrong and very right. "Now there's a career path I could follow. I could be like the Yoda of thieves. Not sure how I would advertise my services though…"

Over the next month, Selina settled into a peaceful existence that had eluded her all her life. The extreme anxiety that plagued her throughout her pregnancy had vanished and Selina couldn't understand what she had been so worried about. DeeDee had told her she would fall head over heels for the baby but Selina hadn't been able to see past her fear to heed her friend's words. DeeDee was so right.

* * *

_Gotham – The Present_

Hoping for some inspiration on an otherwise dead end case, Detective Jessica Massey returned to the scene of the crime. Three days following the homicide, workable leads continued to elude her. Despite sporting bona fide prison tats, the John Doe was not in any database. Her other victim who had barely survived the assault still slumbered the sleep of the deeply wounded and her sole suspect was protected by the Commissioner himself.

Sitting in her car, Jessica went over her notes, trying to see what she missed when an expensive black Range Rover pulled up behind her. Bruce Wayne had a lot of cheek to show up here.

"This is a crime scene, Mr. Wayne," she called out to him as she slammed her car door closed.

"It's also my property, Detective," he said with a grin that probably caused most women to go weak in the knees.

Jessica wasn't most women.

"Bet you think that charm gets you out of just about anything," she said, her eyes narrowing. Jessica hated it when suspects were too handsome for their own good. "I think you're too used to getting whatever you want."

He regarded her for a few moments. "Not really," he said and she believed him.

"I heard what happened at the hospital." The duty nurse had described him as quite a fighter. Her words had described him as "amazing" but Jessica refrained from adding to this man's already inflated ego.

"Does that clear my name?" He asked.

Even though Wayne was fading in her estimation as a viable suspect, Jessica still wasn't quite prepared to let him off the hook. Her instincts, which were usually spot on, told her this guy didn't have it in him to commit such a horrific crime. Besides, Jessica reasoned, if he wanted his girlfriend dead, a guy like him could afford to hire the best in the business. Fly them from the moon if he wanted to. Still, she knew from painful experience that seemingly benign men were capable of monstrous acts. Crimes of passion were exactly that, crimes committed in a haze of rage and jealously, often with no warning.

"You could have planned that in an attempt to deflect suspicion," she answered.

"That seems a lot of effort."

He didn't sound worried. Was that an act? She hated that she couldn't get a handle on this man. The man standing in front of her was different from the man portrayed in the tabloids. More down to Earth than she expected.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

He looked around the deserted street, before settling his gaze on the warehouse, studying it. "Seeing if there's anything that's been overlooked."

"Not much faith in us, huh?"

"No, that's not it," he said, giving her an earnest look. "I know Selina. How she thinks. I may see something you wouldn't know to look for."

"And you would, of course, share that with us?"

"Of course," he said, not even bothering to lie convincingly.

He followed her inside the darkened building.

"You want the story our crime techs tell?" Jessica decided this might be a good opportunity to observe him. She hoped she wasn't getting fooled by a handsome face.

"Yes," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

The portable lights the Crime Scene Unit had employed were long gone but Jessica knew where every speck of blood had been found. As they walked up the steps to the second floor, she described the scenario they believed occurred. Wanting to gauge his reaction, to break through his tight control over his emotions, she was cold and blunt, not sparing him the harshest of details.

"Ms. Kyle was subdued by a shotgun blast to the chest." She paused, letting that sink in. "The shells were filled with salt. We found salt residue on her clothes. Not lethal but painful. Won't break the skin but it will stun you. So, we're thinking she got stunned with the blast over here." She pointed to a darkened hallway. "She falls over and then gets injected with a very mild tranquilizer that would knock her out for a short time."

His eyes followed her hand as she gestured to the points of interest.

"She's moved to the kill room," Jessica said, watched him closely. As she had hoped, her choice of words elicited a glimmer of emotion. He hid it quickly but she had seen the flash of pain at her brusque words. Another point in favor of innocence.

"Do you want me to go on?" She asked, her voice softening with sympathy.

"Yes."

"She was tied to a chair, her hands bound with rope behind her back. She must have had a knife on her so she was able to saw through the rope, her wrists cut in the process. Most of the damage on her left wrist, causing her to bleed, allowing us to follow her trail. Her hand was smashed with the same weapon used to kill the JD. By the layering of the blood, it looks like the JD was killed first, then the murder weapon used on Ms. Kyle. The coroner believes the murder weapon to be a club, or bat, wrapped in barbed wire."

If she had any doubts about his innocence, his unguarded look of pain at that piece of information chased away any lingering suspicions. All in all, it was a pretty horrible story and Massey could tell it was affecting Wayne.

"At some point, there was a helluva fight here. Your girl gave as good as she got and caused enough damage that they bled."

Bruce looked up sharply. "They?"

"Yeah," Jessica replied. "We've got blood from two other people in addition to Ms. Kyle and our John Doe. We also got DNA from under her nails and the DNA is consistent with what was found at the scene. I ran the DNA on the perps but haven't had any luck yet." She paused, looking at him searchingly. "There's also nothing at all about Ms. Kyle or our John Doe in any of our databases. And that is especially odd considering the JD did time."

"That is odd," Bruce agreed with an impenetrable look.

She stared at him knowing he knew something she didn't.

"Anyway, I don't know how she got away but she did." Jessica led him out of the kill room and down the hall pointing at the bits of blood that were found, revealing the trail Selina had left. "I think she threw something down the stairs so the perps would think she went that way. Then she hid under this desk until the coast was clear and she could climb out the window."

As they walked down the darkened hall Jessica pointed out blood traces that had been found. "The perps did a thorough search of the area but I guess they didn't think to check the roof. Maybe if they had more time but I think the cops scared them off. There's a back alley where I suspect they parked."

They walked toward the stairwell that had been discovered by the crime scene techs. The locked door had been obscured by a barricade of desks and chairs. After opening the door, Jessica paused and turned to Bruce.

"I think it was a trap," she told him as they walked up the stairs to the roof. "These people planned this, laying plastic on the floor and over the windows. The only thing they didn't count on was Ms. Kyle. As a result, other than the blood evidence we have nothing. No fingerprints, no signs of forced entry. This place is clean from top to bottom. Which is unusual for a building abandoned for over thirty years."

They emerged on the roof.

"And here's where she ended up," Jessica said, looking at the bloodstained spot visible under the harsh early afternoon sunlight. "I gotta hand it to your girlfriend. Most people wouldn't survive this kind of thing. Makes me think she's got serious street smarts."

"She does," Bruce said absently as he looked around the roof.

"I cannot even begin to imagine how she climbed to the roof with a smashed hand but I believe that's what saved her life."

"Selina is…" he started before giving her a quick glance, not willing to share private feelings with a stranger. "…very resourceful."

In her research on Bruce Wayne, Jessica hadn't come across anything about Ms. Kyle. That relationship was very low profile but, Jessica supposed, for a man who grew up under intense media scrutiny, his privacy must be a precious thing indeed. Protecting that which was most important to him.

After observing his reactions inside the warehouse, she had no doubts about his regard for the mysterious Ms. Kyle. She wondered how gossipy John was feeling. Probably not very concerning this guy. It was weird but she got the impression that John harbored some kind of hero worship for the filthy rich former playboy who had once dazzled the tabloids with stories of models and dancers and throwing money away like it was garbage.

"So," Jessica started, wanting to get back on track and stop with her speculating. "Why the roof? It's not the usual method of escape. Must be because she couldn't have climbed past that double layer of chain length fences with razor and barbed wire. Which, why is there so much of? I mean for an abandoned warehouse, it sure is locked up tight."

He shook his head, not knowing the answer. They stood on the edge of the roof, looking out over the adjacent field. From this spot, the oddness of the double layer of fencing stood out.

"Must be nice to have so many properties you can't keep track of them all."

"It's a pain in the ass, actually," he said, his gaze speculative as he looked at the fencing. "Especially now."

"The phone she had was a burner phone. The only number called was yours," Jessica said, looking up at him. "I think maybe it was an emergency only phone. So why would she call you and not the police?"

"You'll have to ask her that."

"I will."

"Why is he protecting you? The Commissioner?" Jessica asked, unable to contain her curiosity on that matter. "He never struck me as the kind to get bought off by the wealthy."

"He's not," Bruce replied, a tad defensively. "We're old friends."

She heard fondness in his voice.

"How does he get to be friends with the likes of you?"

"We shared the same interests," he replied, his gaze steady on hers.

"Like what? Polo?"

He smiled. "I don't play polo."

"It's of interest to me, the Commissioner's regard for you. And John's," she added. "It doesn't make sense."

He shrugged unwilling to offer an explanation.

Her phone rang. She looked at the caller then apologized and took the call, walking away from him.

"Goddammit!" She said as soon as she hung up.

"Problem?" He asked.

She waved him off. "I have to go. You coming down?"

"No. I'm going to look around."

She nodded, distracted, and started to leave but stopped.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," she said, turning to face him. "I'm paid to find killers not be friendly. But I shouldn't have been so… insensitive to what you're going through. For what it's worth, I'm not getting a killer vibe from you but I'm not paid to listen to vibes. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't think with my brain. And, as you may have heard, a high percentage of women who are murdered are killed by their significant other. So I had to take that approach."

"I understand."

She handed him her card. "I doubt you will but if you come across anything, please let me know. I'm not here to get into your business. I just want to find a couple of killers."

"So do I, Detective," he replied, putting her card in his pocket.

* * *

_Russia – Three Years Earlier_

Spring arrived and with it the annual shindig that had the town aflutter. The festival was a spring bash for the locals to celebrate the end of winter and the time before tourists descended on the city for the summer. It was a huge deal and even though they weren't locals, Bruce and Selina weren't tourists either so their attendance was desired. The ladies of the apartment house devoted the last few days persuading them to come along. Even Balashov promised they would have a great time and had intended to accompany them but cried off at the last minute feeling ill yet insisting that they go.

"I've used the word 'cute' more in the last hour than in all my life," Bruce commented as they walked toward the town center.

"It is alarming." Selina agreed, glancing at the baby in Bruce's arms. She wanted to hold her but it was Bruce's turn and he would not relinquish his precious charge for anything other than a feeding. If they had arguments nowadays, it was mostly over whose turn it was to hold Helena. "I just can't believe how ridiculously happy I am with her outfit. The hat Petrova knitted matches perfectly with the little sweater from Zetseva. And I don't even think they planned that."

"It's all pink, Selina," Bruce said, smiling down at Helena who at two months was showing more awareness of her surroundings.

Selina exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. "Different shades and patterns and textures, Bruce. Don't you know anything?"

The sounds of Russian folk music indicated they were nearing the city center. Selina looked forward to the evening out, happy to have an occasion to dress up a little. She and Helena had their first mother-daughter shopping excursion while Bruce was out for a run. She'd forgotten how good it felt to get dolled up for the evening. Dressed in a fashionable black short skirt and a tight black cardigan with red four inch pumps, Selina wound her arm through Bruce's feeling uncharacteristically carefree.

They circulated through the crowd knowing more people than expected. The ones they didn't and who had heard of the American couple with the baby introduced themselves eager to visit with the foreigners who had inexplicably ended up in their town. Bruce showed off Helena and managed to not pull her away every time someone reached out to touch her. Which was often. These people didn't seem to understand boundaries very well. Maybe that's why Selina liked them.

Bruce did most of the talking for his Russian was far better than hers. He had taken the time to learn grammar and proper syntax whereas Selina was content to pick up a smattering of the language by watching Russian game shows and soaps and talking with their neighbors.

Finally, Helena got hungry and Selina smiled at her as she took the baby from Bruce. Finding a seat by a group of women from the apartment house, she settled Helena, draping a blanket over the baby as she nursed. Bruce went off to find food.

One of the younger tenants, Zetseva who was a spry seventy-five, scooted closer to talk to Selina. They chatted amiably for a few minutes until Selina suspected the woman had ulterior motives.

"We don't have many men," Zetseva explained. "Especially attractive ones. It would make us all so happy if you could persuade your husband to dance with us."

"Us?" Selina asked.

"You will not be jealous?"

"I'll try to live with it," Selina replied in English then shook her head to indicate to Zetseva that she didn't mind.

The woman clapped her hands in delight. "He can start with Vera," Zetseva said. "She is too shy but she wants your husband to ask her to dance."

At first Selina didn't think she translated the words correctly but when she looked past Zetseva, she saw an attractively aged woman dressed in Russian folk clothes looking apprehensively at Selina.

"I'll see what I can do," Selina replied, her eyes on the lonely woman.

"Thank you!" she said quickly then moved away when Bruce arrived with their food.

"You know those women that keep bringing us food and clothes for Helena?" Selina asked as Bruce handed her a blini.

"Yes," Bruce replied, sitting next to her.

"They are all very good to us."

"They are," Bruce agreed before taking a bite of his food.

"They bring us food…"

As he chewed his food, he nodded in agreement.

"They give Helena stuff..."

He continued nodding waiting for her to elaborate on what she'd gotten him into.

"And they don't ask for anything."

At that, he gave her a look reminding her of the many, many knocks on their door with the flimsy excuses to ogle the baby.

"Ok, so they're kind of a nuisance but they've outlived all the men around here and just want to dance with a handsome guy."

He stared at her blankly.

"That would be you," she said, smiling at him. "Aren't you glad you shaved for this?"

"May I eat first?"

"Yes," she replied, fixing her cardigan then putting Helena on her shoulder, softly tapping her back. "And, could you ask her friend to dance before the others?"

"Who?"

"The woman standing by Zetseva. Don't look," she said but he looked anyway. "Now you're committed. She saw you looking at her and she'll be hurt if you don't ask."

"Fine," he said, finishing off his dinner.

The look on the woman's face was priceless when Bruce asked her to dance. Selina whispered to Helena that for a crime fighter her daddy wasn't so bad.

The other women crowded around her, talking excitedly. Selina struggled to follow what they were saying but gave up and watched Bruce charm woman after woman. After each dance, another of their neighbors appeared and Bruce never let on that he wanted to do anything but dance with them.

Selina wondered how she ended up with someone who had such perfect manners. He really had been brought up right. At least until…

Deciding to rescue him, she passed Helena to Anna and made her way to the dance floor.

She tapped the shoulder of Marta, smiling at her as her eyes met Bruce's.

"I was getting jealous," she said as he took her hand then slid his other behind her back.

He looked over her shoulder to see who was holding Helena.

"She's fine," Selina said. "We know those people."

"Yeah but…" He trailed off not wanting to give voice to all the bad scenarios his brain could imagine.

"I'm starting to feel like a bad mother trusting those women."

"No, it's fine," Bruce said looking back at her, smiling a little apologetically. "It's just…anything could happen."

"Yeah. Like a meteor could fall from the sky and kill us all. Why worry about stuff like that?"

"It's not meteors I'm worried about."

Selina shook her head. "God help the person that lays a finger on that kid."

Her calm was momentarily intruded by a quick thought of what she would do if anyone dared harmed Helena. She pushed it away, not willing entertain the paranoid thoughts Bruce had trouble getting past.

"I can't believe I'm the trusting one in this relationship," she murmured.

"Who's that?" He nodded toward the younger woman who now held Helena.

Selina didn't need to turn around to see who he was talking about. "That's Anna's daughter, Galina. I interrogated her for a solid five minutes so she's okay. Should I have gotten her prints first?"

"A DNA sample would be preferable," he commented. "You never know how accurate prints can be…"

They danced in silence, gazing at each other remembering the last time they had danced. It felt like a different life with different people. The fears and worries that plagued her then seemed alien now. All thanks to the man in her arms.

Her hand slid from his shoulder, lightly brushing his neck as it travelled to his other shoulder. She curled her arm behind his neck as she shifted closer to him. Her high heels allowed them to stand face to face. His eyes went to her mouth but he didn't kiss her, aware of the crowd of people and also aware that he wanted more than a quick peck. She leaned closer to him, her face at his neck. Her eyes closed and she breathed in his scent. She felt his lips hovering just above her nape, his breath warm against her skin.

"Do you think she's out for awhile?" He whispered in her ear.

"I think we have a couple of hours," she replied huskily, lifting her head to meet his eyes. What she saw in his heated gaze caused a stab of lust to go through her.

"You get Helena," he said, not wanting to be entangled with their neighbors again. "I'll wait over there."

She nodded then walked quickly to the group of women.

"I'm sorry but we have to go," Selina said as she collected Helena.

"If he were mine, I would want to go home as well," Galina said in English, handing Selina her oversized purse that doubled as a diaper bag.

Selina shared a grin with the young woman then went off to where Bruce waited. He reached for Helena, holding her with one arm, then took Selina's hand and led her away from the crowd. They grinned at each other then quickly made their way to their apartment.

Bruce tucked Helena in the Moses basket then turned and kissed Selina. Her arms went around his neck as she held him tightly against her. Their tongues met and the passion between them rose. They made their way to the bed, shedding their clothes on the way.

Bruce lay down, pulling her on top of him as he hands slid over her body. He touched her in all the right places, eliciting soft sighs. Unsure of how much time they had before Helena woke, they were quick and quiet.

"I have to start running again," Selina said, after, sounding out of breath. She slid off him to lay on her back then turned on her side to look at him. When she faced him, he was already looking at her and in his face and eyes she saw everything she never knew she needed.

She looked away, irritated at herself for thinking such a thought. The baby stirred and Selina was grateful for the excuse to hop out of bed. Shrugging on a short silk robe, she padded over to where Helena still slept. A loving smile appeared on her face as she gazed at her daughter. The kid was undoubtedly the best thing that ever happened to her by far.

But what about the man she'd just left alone after a passionate bout of extremely satisfying lovemaking? The little voice inside her asked. Selina pushed that thought aside. Too dangerous. The baby was one thing. The man was another.

Yet it was difficult to guard her heart when it was so open. Helena had broken through the last of her defenses. If Selina wanted to be honest, she would acknowledge that those defenses had already been breached by Bruce Wayne. But Selina was an expert at lying and deceit. Even if she was only fooling herself.

* * *

_Gotham - The Present_

Bruce watched Detective Massey drive off then called Alfred asking him to look into the warehouse. He gazed out at the vacant lot enclosed by the double layer of chain length fence. The fence seemed relatively new, certainly nothing like the fencing surrounding the other abandoned buildings along the street. Most of those were old and sagging with holes vagrants used to slide through seeking the relative warmth of empty buildings. He told Alfred to check on all expenses relating to this property.

Helena got on the phone, chattering about the duckies at the park, asking if she could have one. He smiled, telling her the standard "We'll see." She asked if he was bringing mommy home. Feeling guilty at leaving her confused about her mother's continued absence, he offered her the same lie. After assuring her he would be home before dinner, he ended the call.

He turned to assess the roof, keeping his gaze away from the bloodstained spot where Selina had been found. Bruce could see what Detective Massey could not: how Selina had arrived at the warehouse. She had crossed over from the building next door.

The gravel near the ledge indicated someone had put down there. Without a second thought, he jumped the five feet to the next building. His knee protested at the landing and he felt a swell of anger as he imagined Selina making the dangerous jump. He continued over four more buildings until he reached a building adjacent to a small abandoned parking lot. Across the lot, he noticed a slight indentation on the weary barbed wire that traversed the length of the chain link fence. On the ground, was a folded piece of cardboard, probably used to cover the barbed wire to get across.

Climbing down the same way Selina had climbed up, Bruce felt his anger rise again. Selina had gone to enormous trouble to shield her arrival at the warehouse making him believe she knew she was up against dangerous foes.

On the other side of the fence, sitting on the ground waiting to be reclaimed were two Yummy Donut coffee cups. Using the discarded cardboard, Bruce climbed over the fence. As he jumped to the ground, he scanned the area not seeing another soul or an abandoned car. On the ground, near the cups, were a few cigarette butts. He picked up one of the paper coffee cups, recognizing Selina's shade of lipstick.

Across the street, there was a scrap metal dealer with way too many security cameras. Bruce almost grinned at that piece of luck. One of the cameras was pointed in the direction of the parking lot.

A bored receptionist, who perked up when he entered, greeted him with a happy smile.

Bruce flirted a little, feeling bad at flattering the woman who looked like she didn't get many compliments. After a few minutes of polite chit chat, he persuaded her to check the security feed, sliding her a hundred dollar bill. She looked at the bill then back up at him, worried about what he wanted. He told her he was a private investigator looking into a cheating husband. She nodded, approving of the bastard getting caught and led him to the back room.

She hovered at his shoulder as he found the file with the correct camera's feed. As he searched, he kept up the flirty banter all the while calculating the time he needed to access. He had the timeline in his head. Selina parked her SUV at 8:50 a.m. at the mall parking garage. Depending on morning rush hour traffic, the warehouse was between forty and fifty minutes away. He started searching at 9:30, finally finding her at 11:17.

For the first time, he could see the John Doe. Not a clear enough picture to see his face but there he was, walking along with Selina only a few short hours before he would be dead. He was talking, telling her a story if his gestures were any indication. They arrived at the fence, the John Doe spotting the cardboard then laying it over the barbed wire. Selina set down her coffee, talked earnestly to him, handed him a phone, and then stepped into the JD's threaded hands as he hoisted her over the fence. The way they moved together made Bruce think that wasn't the first time they'd performed such a maneuver. Selina disappeared out of sight.

Bruce fast-forwarded the video, watching as the JD smoked cigarette after cigarette. He drank his coffee, checked the phone, drank Selina's coffee, and smoked more cigarettes. Bruce could identify when the guy started to worry. He paced, running a hand through his jet-black hair, looking around anxiously. Finally, at 11:50, he climbed the fence and disappeared.

The first text Bruce received that day was at 12:16 and he could only assume that the sender was the John Doe. Bruce continued fast-forwarding through the security feed, seeing nothing of interest until a patrol car sped past, its lights flashing.

"So, that's it?" The receptionist asked, sounding disappointed there wasn't anything juicy on the feed.

"Afraid so," Bruce replied, standing up. He smiled at her, infusing his most disarming grin. "The guy's a real jerk. Trying to get custody of the kids. So if anyone asks if anybody was looking into this, could you…?" He handed another five hundred dollars to her.

"I won't tell a soul. Hope that guy gets what he deserves."

On his way out, he asked where the closest Yummy Donuts was.

"Real close. Just over on Wilshire."

"Is it walkable?"

"Sure, if you're into that kind of thing."

He nodded his thanks.

Wilshire was a ten minute walk away and Yummy Donuts another five. When he asked the cashier if she remembered a woman with long dark hair from three days ago, she gave him an impatient you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look. He bought a coffee, leaving her a big tip.

Standing on the street, outside the bakery, he scanned the area, taking note of the high traffic, both cars and people. It was a busy neighborhood, working class with lots of hustle and bustle. A great place to blend in. Across the busy street, he noticed a beat up car with several days' worth of parking tickets. As he walked closer, he noticed that the old Camaro wasn't nearly as beat up as it seemed from across the street. The paint job was faded, the car had once been black but it was now a faded dark grey. The car also looked like it hadn't been washed in years.

On a hunch he took out Selina's keys and wasn't surprised to find one slide into the lock. The door opened with the creak of older cars. He sat down and looked around. The car may appear beat up on the outside but, inside, it was kept up beautifully. The upholstery looked to be updated but kept with the original style. Red.

This was her. Selina. For the first time in a long time, he was feeling the Selina he'd first met years before.

He noticed a picture lying on the passenger seat. The photo was of a sad faced young woman who would have been quite pretty if she hadn't looked so petrified. Messy blonde hair with clear blue eyes that were filled with despair, fear, pain…who was she?

In the backseat, he found Selina's old satchel that had been their constant companion for four years. Looking through it, he found the clothes she'd been wearing when she left the penthouse that morning. He also found a piece of paper with the address of the warehouse scrawled in unfamiliar writing. Other than that, there was nothing. Again, she'd taken precautions ensuring that whatever she was doing would not lead back to them.

He opened the glove box and found a loaded pistol. Frowning, he emptied the chamber, tossing the bullets in the glove compartment and stuffing the pistol under the seat. As he did, he found another gun.

"Jesus, Selina, what's the use having these things if you're not taking them when you need them?" He asked aloud.

After unloading the second weapon, he rifled through the glove compartment finding the car's registration. The 1969 Camaro was registered to 'S. Gallagher, 1414 Canton Street, Gotham'. The registration did not match the license plate. After running the plate, he found that the plate had been lifted from an airport rental car.

He then performed a thorough search of the car, finding another pistol duct-taped under the trunk.

Removing the parking tickets off the windshield, he started the Camaro. The engine noisily roared to life. The well maintained engine was powerful, emitting that low, loud rumbling found in American muscle cars.

As he listened to the engine idle, he called Blake.

"Can you pick up my car for me?" He asked, revving the engine.

"Are you serious?" John asked, not sounding offended.

"I am."

"Is it the Lambo?"

"No."

"Are you ever going to drive that and leave it somewhere?"

"Selina's Range Rover is parked in front of the warehouse. Alfred will leave a key with the doorman. Any luck with Jen?"

"No, she left that apartment years ago but I think I'm close to finding her."

"And the Congressman?"

"In Europe with the wife since March. Their usual ski trip. Gordon's asking around about him, seeing if he has a less than savory reputation. Well, worse than it already is."

Bruce had suspected as much.

"Keep on Jen. Let me know as soon as you find her."

He ended the call then picked up the photo of the young woman. This is it, he thought. Here's what why Selina was doing what she was doing.


	8. Selina Shares

More apologies from me for taking so long to update. I changed the title of the story because I think the awfulness of it was a contributing factor in my procrastination.

* * *

_Gotham – The Present_

The worn and faded exterior of Selina's Camaro provided a perfect disguise for the vehicle's excellent condition. Unlike the Lambo, her car drew no excessive attention as Bruce rapidly wove through the afternoon freeway traffic. He liked how the Rolling Stones song that shuffled on the IPod plugged into the newish radio complemented the loud and raw rumble of the engine. By the end of the song, he reached the turnoff entering an area of Gotham that was not great but certainly not the worst.

The neighborhood was a balance of blue collar workers, the unemployed, and people engaged in various petty crimes. It was rough and unwelcoming to outsiders but the Camaro fit in. No one paid him any mind as Bruce made his way to 1414 Canton.

The Who shuffled on and Bruce remembered Selina's off-hand remark that she had gotten kicked out of Central High. That particular educational institution had the reputation for being the roughest in all of Gotham. It was also in the vicinity of the address on the registration.

Whatever he had hoped to find at the address was dashed when it was immediately apparent that the home had been abandoned long ago. The other houses surrounding the property looked abandoned as well though there were signs that the other homes were used by vagrants or kids looking for a place to party. No graffiti or broken windows marred the house giving the impression that people in the neighborhood knew better than to mess with 1414 Canton.

After parking across the narrow street, he put on a Gotham ball-cap that he found in Selina's bag, pulling it low over his face; his best means of disguise. As he crossed the deserted street, he looked right and left seeing no signs of life anywhere. He peered through the dirty windows of the house and soon concluded that no one had entered the place in years. If any city inspectors saw the house, it would take them all of five seconds to condemn it. He circled around looking for anything to indicate Selina's connection to the house.

In the back, he found an old garage that looked like a gust of wind would blow it over. The doors were chained shut inviting speculation that something of value might be inside. Using one of the keys on Selina's keychain, he unlocked the lock and slid the doors open. Inside, cinder blocks lined the walls making the shack far more secure than it appeared on the outside. Shelves and boxes also lined the walls but the layers of dust suggested that no one had any interest in any of the odds and ends contained within. The middle of the garage was empty but a large rectangle free of the dust that covered the rest of the cement floor indicated that a car had been parked there for some time.

Toward the back of the garage, a line of old, dented aluminum trashcans with boxes stacked on top obscured what rested behind. As he moved the boxes to the side, clouds of dust polluted the air. Waving away the dust, he lifted another tarp and stared, stunned to find his Batpod that Selina had hidden away years before. Unexpectedly pleased to see it again, he touched it reverently. Covering it again, he pushed the cans back and replaced the boxes making note to return at night to get the pod. Or, he grinned to himself, send Blake after it.

After locking the garage, he walked back to the car to find a young woman sitting on the hood of the Camaro. Dressed in tight, revealing clothes, the young woman looked like she was trying to appear older than she was which Bruce suspected couldn't be older than sixteen. Her long dark hair hung straight down her back and if she wasn't wearing so much makeup, Bruce suspected she would be pretty.

Upon noticing him, she looked surprised then frowned and slid off the hood.

"Who said you could drive this car?" She asked angrily.

"A friend," he replied.

She looked back toward the house. "Where is she?"

Bruce debated how much he wanted to tell this stranger but she did seem to know Selina and he needed a break.

"Gotham General," he answered, watching her carefully.

"No shit!" She exclaimed, excited at the news. Bruce couldn't tell if it was concern or if she was eager to have fodder for gossip. "What happened?"

"She was…injured."

"Is she okay?"

"She will be," he assured himself as much as her.

She looked at the Camaro then at him. "Why do you have her car?"

"She's letting me borrow it."

"Bullshit!" She scoffed. "Selina don't let anyone drive her baby."

He held up Selina's keys as if that proved she had given him permission to drive the Camaro.

"How do you know her?" He asked.

"I don't really know her," she answered, shrugging. "She has friends in the neighborhood. She was gone for a while. Was she is prison?"

"No, she wasn't," he clarified wanting that to be clear to the teen. He pointed at the rundown house. "Who lives there?"

"Does it look like someone lives there?" She gave him an offended look. "Sheesh, you must think we're a bunch of animals down here. Who are you?"

"Who are you?" He asked back.

They stared at each other for a few moments. The young woman seemed not the slightest bit moved as he affected his most disarming look.

"I asked first," she said, folding her arms.

"I'm…" Bruce started, thinking of the word to describe Selina and his relationship. Significant other? Lover? Father of her child?

"Her boyfriend," he finished, hating the word that failed to accurately describe the depth of their connection.

"Prove it," she challenged as she leaned against the car enjoying what she perceived to be a position of power.

"How am I supposed to do that?" He asked, forcing himself to not sound impatient.

"Let me see a picture."

"I don't have one."

She rolled her eyes. "Some boyfriend you are."

The girl was starting to irritate him. He was also beginning to doubt that she had any useful information.

"Do you know her friend?" He asked as he reached into his wallet and held out a hundred dollar bill. "The one with black hair and the tattoos?"

At that, her stance changed. The flirty, coquettishness was replaced with suspicion. She looked at the money then back up at him before taking the hundred but she didn't answer the question. She must not know how this whole bribery thing worked.

"Do you know her friend?" He asked again.

"What's his name?" She asked, sliding the cash in her front pocket.

"I don't know but he has black hair and tattoos. Sound familiar?"

The girl with the cynical eyes just looked at him belligerently.

He took out another hundred. She reached for it but he held it just beyond her reach.

"I don't know that person," she finally said. "At least I don't think so. Know lots of guys with tattoos, you know?"

"You said Selina has friends in the neighborhood. Who?"

"What kind of boyfriend are you that don't know her friends?" She asked as she glanced around the street.

He ignored that question. "Is it DeeDee?"

She glared at him then snatched the money out of his hand. "I have to live here, you know. Someone finds out I've been talking to a psycho ex-boyfriend, I'll get my ass kicked."

"I'm not a psycho ex-boyfriend and there's another hundred in it for you."

Once again, she looked around to see if anyone was watching. "How about I just blow you for it?"

The interrogation had taken a turn for the worse. Bruce wished he was questioning a crooked cop or a criminal, using his fists and fear as an effective means of getting answers.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"How old do you want me to be?" She responded suggestively.

He stared at her, feeling sad for the girl. "Old enough where you realize you don't want to do what you're doing."

"Gawd," she said, making a face. "For a cutie, you sure are a drag." She looked at him closely then asked: "Are you on TV?"

"No."

A BMW drove up and parked behind the Camaro. The driver who looked like a college student regarded them quizzically but stayed in the car. The young woman waved at him, smiling a flirty grin then turned back to Bruce.

"You seem okay but I don't know you. Maybe Selina left you for that tattooed guy and you're trying to stalk her. Maybe you put her in the hospital and are looking for her boyfriend. You don't look like a psycho but the really crazy ones look perfectly fine, you know?"

"I know," Bruce agreed. He held up a finger indicating her to wait while he reached into the car. He found the picture of the mysterious woman. "Do you know her?"

She looked at the picture and shook her head no. He believed her.

Wishing he'd had the foresight to get an extra phone for such an eventuality, he reluctantly gave her his phone number. "Get her friend to call me and I'll give you a thousand dollars."

Her eyes widened at the sum. "Sure you don't want a BJ? It'd be worth it. Brian there will agree."

Bruce shook his head, trying not to let his disgust show. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

She laughed and headed toward the BMW.

"A thousand bucks, right?" She called out before opening the passenger door.

He nodded and watched as she got into the car. She gave the college kid a long, open-mouthed kiss before she waved to Bruce and they sped off.

Bruce leaned against the Camaro thinking that if Selina's friends were anything like the one he just met, it was going to be a long and irritating process getting any information.

* * *

_Russia – Three Years Earlier_

With Balashov between them, Bruce and Selina strolled along the crowded waterfront promenade. Balashov enjoyed the daily excursions as did Helena who, at four months, was becoming more attentive to the world around her. Bruce held the baby against his chest, facing outward so she could take in her surroundings. He paused by anything bright and colorful, his face breaking out in an unguarded smile at her animated responses to the visual stimulation.

The elderly Balashov gripped Selina's arm for support as they slowly made their way through the throng of summer tourists. Today was a good day for Balashov so they ventured out further than usual past the tourist area. The crowd thinned and they almost turned back until they noticed a small group of people gathered around the edge of the pier. By the looks of their faces, the gawkers did not look appear enthralled with a riveting street performance.

Wanting to avoid whatever was going on, Bruce stopped. Like Selina, he knew the indicators for bad news but Balashov tugged on Selina's arm wanting her to walk him closer.

"What is this about?" Balashov gruffly demanded of the lone official who scribbled in a small notebook.

"A woman was murdered," the young man responded, his eyes flitting to the dark area under the pier.

Balashov looked around. "Where are the police?"

The man looked up from his notebook, his young eyes offended at the old man's question. "I am the official in charge of this investigation."

"You're it?" Balashov asked gruffly, looking over the man who looked far too green to handle a murder investigation.

"Our detectives have more important matters to attend to at this time," the official replied.

"More important than finding who killed a woman and dumped her body on the beach?" Selina couldn't resist interjecting.

"The woman was just a prostitute," the man explained as if that fact explained everything.

Selina stared at him as he resumed his note taking.

"Hookers don't merit a full investigation, huh?" Selina asked the question in English without realizing it until she became aware of the man's blank stare then asked the question again in Russian.

His eyes narrowed at her cold tone. "This does not concern you," he replied tersely, dismissing her.

She felt Balashov's gaze on her but couldn't look at him. Instead, her eyes traveled over the sparse crowd to rest on a pair of women standing on the edge of the 'crime' scene. The women, working girls from the look of them, stood apart, their stance angry. One of the women looked up, her teary eyes looking straight at Selina. They stared at each other for a few moments until the other woman pulled her friend away. With a last scornful glance at the disinterested official, the women hurried off.

"Nice to know some things never change," she drawled, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

"Things are different here…" Balashov began, visibly agitated at her sudden coldness.

Selina shook her head. "It's not any different here than it is every place else." Her eyes dulled as she watched the attendants load the body bag into a van.

Balashov tugged on her arm, bringing her back to the present. They walked back to Bruce and Helena who waited on the edge of the promenade. Furiously trying to quell the onslaught of long-dormant feelings, Selina avoided Bruce and Balashov's speculative gazes. Unable to bear their scrutiny any longer, she took Helena from Bruce, brusquely telling the two men she would see them back home.

Impatient to get back to the privacy of the apartment, Selina rushed through the crowd holding Helena close against her heart. Wanting to avoid her neighbors, she picked the lock on the back door to the apartment house and silently made her way through the darkened vestibule. As if sensing the stealth, Helena was quiet, aiding Selina in evading chatty old ladies.

As soon as they were safely inside the apartment, Selina's hand went to her phone in her front pocket but after punching in five numbers, she stopped and looked down at Helena who looked adoringly up at her mother. The baby smiled and reached for her face. Despite her sadness, Selina smiled back at her daughter before kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

Selina sat on one of the kitchen chairs they had set in front of the window and watched Helena nurse, her face tender. After Helena fell asleep, she repositioned the infant so the baby's head lay on her shoulder, her face against Selina's neck. Settling back, she rested her bare feet on the chair opposite and allowed melancholy to invade as she stared out of the viewless window.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked when he returned.

"I'm fine," Selina lied, avoiding his eyes.

"Selina?" He prodded, concerned. "I'm trying to understand why this is affecting you."

"Because no one in their right mind would care if a prostitute is found dead on a beach?"

"That's not what I meant…"

"I know…" Selina replied looking at him for the first time since he returned. "I just forgot that it's okay to kill women that fuck for money."

The crude word felt unfamiliar on her tongue. She patted Helena's head in apology.

"Who says it's okay?" Bruce asked.

"Did it look to you like that crime was being taken seriously?" She returned her gaze to the window, her mind not seeing what her eyes perceived. "You know very well that if it had been a tourist, the entire police force would be scouring the city looking for the killer."

"You don't know how things work here."

"I know apathy when I see it!" Her sharp tone caused Helena to stir against her. Selina rose and placed the sleeping baby in her basket then walked back to Bruce. "Maybe your powers of perception are keener than mine but if that detective kid spends more than an hour on this case I'd be shocked."

He took her hand, pulling her down to sit on his lap.

"It's just a jolt of reality I wasn't expecting," Selina explained as she draped an arm over his shoulders. "Being here with Helena and you makes me forget how the world works."

He nodded. "Whoever committed the crime is probably long gone by now."

"Why would he leave if no one is looking for him?" She asked, sadly, leaning against him.

After a restless sleep, she woke at 2 a.m. to find Bruce gone from the apartment. She brewed a cup of tea and sat back on the chair next to window to wait for him. Her melancholy deepened as she stared out at the night. Helena made a noise in her sleep which Selina took as an opportunity to gather her daughter and stretch out on the bed, snuggling the baby close, breathing in her scent.

When she awoke again, the sun was shining through the window. She felt for Helena but the spot was empty.

"I tried waiting up for you," she said sleepily. She didn't need to open her eyes to know that Bruce sat at the kitchen table with Helena.

"Took a little longer to decipher the filing system at the police station than I anticipated." He sounded distracted.

"They already filed the case away, huh?" Selina rolled onto her side. Curling an arm under her head she opened her eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight.

Bruce sat at the small kitchen table studying a document. With one arm, he held Helena who was content to gnash on a soft plastic otter until her mother approached. Bruce willingly surrendered her to Selina.

As she fed Helena, she looked over the papers spread over the table.

"This is more detailed than I thought the police would be capable of," she observed.

"No. This came from the police." He held up a single piece of paper. "The rest came from the coroner's office."

"You broke into the morgue, too?" Selina teased. "I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled."

He grinned then yawned. Late night activities that didn't involve a baby or making love were a thing of the past.

"I'll take Helena downstairs so you can sleep," Selina said. She gathered a few things for spending time at Balashov's. At the door, she turned and gave him a soft kiss. "Thank you."

* * *

_Gotham – The Present_

When Bruce called, John Blake had been snug in the bed of a woman he'd met the night before. Like him, Sandy was a night owl and balked at the early call. Using his most charming grin, John persuaded her to drive him to the warehouse since he had left his motorcycle at the tavern where she tended bar. She in turn persuaded him for a quickie before they ventured out into the harsh late morning sunlight.

As they drove to the hotel to pick up the keys, he received a text from Bruce with a picture of a sad faced woman with the message to ask Jen about her. Wayne was certainly confident in Blake's ability to track down the elusive thief and, thanks to Sandy, Bruce's faith in John was not misplaced.

Following a lead that had led him to the bar where Jen supposedly hung out, he hadn't found Jen but he had found the attractive bartender who knew Jen well in a casual, friendly way. So in the interest of not appearing like a stalker, John had flirted, showing the attractive bartender that he was an okay guy who didn't bear Jen any ill will. Sandy, with a good feel for people, lost her wariness and flirted back. Sometime after midnight, she finally trusted him enough to tell him the address of Jen's apartment building, trusted him enough to drive him to Jen's where they found her not at home. After a few steamy hours waiting in her car they concluded Jen wasn't coming home and made their way to her place.

"Hey, that's a nice car!" Sandy exclaimed later when they reached the warehouse. Glancing around the neighborhood, she seemed apprehensive at the desertedness of the area. "Why'd you leave it here?"

"It's okay," he assured her as he exited the vehicle, eager to escape the inevitable farewell awkwardness.

"Call me!" She called out, seemingly more interested in him when she saw what she thought to be his expensive Mercedes.

John smiled again and waved goodbye as he planned his hunt for Jen. The expensive car barely made a sound except when John peeled out. It was too silent so he turned on the radio, bypassing the news channel Bruce favored for the Indie station. As he pulled onto the freeway headed back into Gotham, the Commissioner called.

"Any luck with Ms. Kyle's friend?" Gordon asked.

John turned down the volume. "I gotta current address for Jen."

"Is that where you're headed?"

"First I have to drop off Wayne's car at the hotel."

"I'll meet you there," Gordon replied before ending the call.

Great, Blake thought as he turned the volume back up, with the Commissioner along he'd have to behave.

The phone buzzed again. Thinking it was the Commissioner he didn't bother checking the ID.

"I know you're working my case," the female voice that was definitely not Jim Gordon growled.

"Good morning to you, too, Jessica."

"It's past noon, Blake," she chastised.

"Already?"

"I thought I should tell you I've removed your friend from my suspect list."

"I knew you would," he said, relieved at that news. While he had known Jessica was smart enough to figure out Bruce's innocence, he still didn't want her looking too closely at him.

"And now I have zero suspects," Jessica complained with a heavy sigh. "So…I've been thinking about the JD's tats. Lots of music tattoos. The Stones. Black Flag. Zeppelin."

"A music lover…"

"Yeah, though that doesn't help much now. All I know is he's into music and drugs."

"That really narrows things down."

"Are you looking at tattoo shops?" Jessica asked. "Cause if you are I don't want to go to the same places."

"I checked out a few but, you know, Jess, we're not going to find anything there."

"I know but I don't know what else to do. I hate waiting for Ms. Kyle to wake up. I get the feeling she's not one to talk to the cops."

"You got that right," Blake said.

"So you know her, then?"

"Little bit," he replied, deciding not to tell her that he arrested Selina once.

"So…her and Wayne…What's up with that?"

"I have no idea," John replied. He still could not understand what Bruce Wayne was doing with a criminal like Selina Kyle. An image of Kyle as she appeared at the airport that day flitted through his brain and he figured at least one reason for Bruce's infatuation. But was physical attraction enough to keep a man like Bruce Wayne interested for four years?

"I saw him at the crime scene this morning," Jessica said.

"Yeah?" John had already figured Bruce had been there and wondered why he didn't drive the car that he'd arrived in.

"He seems to know a lot about crime investigation."

"Really?"

"Would you stop that?" Jess sounded exasperated.

"Stop what?"

"Acting stupid."

"I can't help it!" Blake laughed.

"Yeah, I guess not." Jessica was quiet for a bit. "He's interesting, isn't he?"

"I guess so."

"Jesus, Blake, can't you give me something?" Her exasperation turned to anger.

"I don't know anything to give you!"

"I really hate this feeling like you know about my case than I do."

"I know, Jessica," he said, feeling guilty for holding out on a good friend. Only for Bruce Wayne would he do this to her. "Can you just trust me on this one?"

"What's going on, John? Why do you care about this guy so much?"

"Bruce was…uh… a patron of the orphanage I lived in."

"Oh," she said, not expecting that answer. He rarely talked about his childhood. "I didn't think about that."

They were both silent for a few moments. Blake could imagine the cute scrunching of her brows as she thought.

"I better not get an unsolved because you all fuck it up," she finally said. "I mean it, Blake."

"You won't," he assured her. _If Bruce Wayne is looking into it, it'll get solved._

* * *

_Russia – Three Years Ago_

He sat on the edge of the roof keeping watch over the red light district that was contained within a few blocks. It was just past midnight on a cool summer night which might have been peaceful if Bruce wasn't occupied with watching women and men trade their bodies for money. With each transaction, he couldn't help but wonder at the reason Selina was so affected by a stranger's death. Ever since that evening three days ago, she'd been distant, her eyes forbidding him to ask the whys for her sadness that she could not hide from him.

Needing to stretch out his knee that always protested when he was still for too long, Bruce stood then walked along the narrow ledge of the roof keeping an eye on the scene below. Getting back to investigative basics without relying on his high-tech gadgetry would have been more exhilarating if Bruce's investigation hadn't revealed that the woman, Marina Pitushka, was the third prostitute in the last month to be murdered.

At that piece of news, Selina just shrugged in an attempt to convey indifference but Bruce saw the flash of anger on her face. Again, he didn't demand answers and as he observed yet another young woman get into a stranger's car he thought that maybe there were things about Selina he would rather not know.

Just as Bruce was about to sit back on the ledge he saw something out of the corner of his eye. If the man hadn't lit a cigarette from the shadows of the alley, Bruce wasn't sure he would have seen him. Jumping to the next building, Bruce crept closer, his eyes never leaving the man. The man didn't approach any of the women he watched but kept himself well hidden. He was hunting, Bruce was sure of it.

For the next hour, Bruce watched the man watch the women until the man slunk away. Bruce texted Selina letting her know he would not be returning for the night. Now that he had the man in his sight, he wasn't about to let him kill again.

Keeping to the roofs, Bruce followed as the man made his way through the darkened streets toward the tourist area near the seashore. Once the man's hotel was identified, it was easy to discover that Olaf Agapov, a bureaucrat of no import from Volgograd, had spent the last month in the hotel. That fact itself was not incriminating enough for Bruce so when Agapov left the next morning for breakfast, Bruce searched his room finding objects that couldn't possibly belong to the middle aged man. Trophies, he suspected, that had belonged to the victims. He put the objects back where he found them for the police to find.

The next night, Bruce followed Agapov from his hotel. After hours of hiding in the alley shadows, the man made his move and so did Bruce. He was on him before the man's fist connected with the face of the pretty girl he had lured to a darkened alley. In seconds, the man was out cold. With a horrified gasp, the girl looked at Bruce then ran away without a word of thanks. After dropping Agapov off on the steps of the police station, Bruce placed an anonymous call guiding the authorities to evidence supporting the man's guilt.

Less than a day later, the Agapov was free with no impending charges.

Bruce didn't have to tell Selina the outcome of the police's involvement in the case. She correctly determined the source of his anger but didn't join him in his indignation. Instead, she just stared at Helena sleeping peacefully in her basket.

"What are you thinking, Selina?" His voice rose, hating the feeling of futility, hating the pull of solving problems that were not solvable, hating that he didn't understand what she was thinking.

"I don't want you to waste any more of your time," Selina replied.

"Waste my time?" He almost yelled as he fought his frustration. "Aren't _you_ upset at this miscarriage of justice?"

"Why would I be upset about it?" She asked quietly, not looking up from the baby. "I never expected anything different."

"I thought you cared," he said, softly, before sitting next to her on the bed.

"Some things just are what they are. It sucks but that's the way the world works and who can get worked up over every unjust thing that happens?" She was silent for a few moments before she looked up and met his eyes. As they gazed at each other, she said, "Bruce, you will drive yourself crazy trying to make things right."

He couldn't argue with that. She looked away again, her gaze settling not on Helena but the window that had no view. She seemed so far away.

"What are you going to do?" He asked sharply, not liking her cold expression. She looked as though she had reached some conclusion that he knew couldn't be good.

She looked up at him as if surprised at the question. "I'm going for a run," she replied, giving him a long look before getting up.

He grasped her hand pulling her to him. She kissed him lightly before gently extricating herself from his embrace. "I won't be long. Just need to be by myself for a bit."

That night, he couldn't sleep trying to envision ways to make Agapov pay for his crimes even though the law didn't seem to care. Selina slept fitfully.

The next evening, Bruce understood why Selina hadn't lost any sleep worrying about what to do with Agapov. The death of a tourist was big news in this small city. The widows of the apartment building offered whispered details to Bruce and Selina. The yet to be identified middle aged male tourist was found dead near the seashore. The Chief Inspector vowed that the killer would be found and a massive search had been implemented.

"Now that they're looking into," Selina scoffed with a bitter laugh as they climbed the stairs. Bruce waited until they were in their apartment and Selina had put a sleeping Helena in her basket.

"What did you do?" He asked, quietly.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking," Selina replied as she set a kettle to boil, going about the motions like it was just a regular evening.

"Selina, what did you do?" Bruce repeated.

She turned away from him and opened a cabinet to look for tea. "I just dropped his name to some people who would be interested in what he's been doing."

He closed the cabinet door loudly, forcing her to look at him. "You set him up to die."

The sound of the door slamming roused Helena but neither Bruce nor Selina moved to get her.

"I didn't know they were going to kill him," Selina said, trying to move past him to get the baby. He caught her arm, holding her tightly.

"And that makes it okay to you?"

"Would you rather I pretend I'm sad?"

"No," Bruce answered, his eyes boring into hers, trying to find answers without asking the questions.

They silently regarded each other for a few moments, each understanding that they treaded a slippery slope with regards to her past.

"Selina…" Bruce began though he wasn't sure what he wanted to ask her but Helena cries grew louder, demanding their attention. Selina picked her up, kissed her head before handing her to Bruce.

"You know what, Bruce?" Selina asked once Helena had settled down in Bruce's arms. She didn't wait for him to answer for it wasn't that kind of question. "I lied. I knew they would kill him."

Selina fixed him with a steady, unapologetic gaze before leaving him alone with Helena. Gathering Helena and a few of her things, Bruce went downstairs to Balashov's needing to escape the apartment which suddenly felt small and shabby instead of the usual warm and cozy.

The elderly man greeted them happily before settling into his usual chair. He beckoned his interest in holding Helena. Carefully, Bruce set her in Balashov's arms where the older man and Helena spent the next few minutes gazing at each other. Bruce wouldn't have pegged the old soldier for being such a softie but Balashov's delight in Helena never failed to cheer him.

Balashov soon returned Helena to Bruce, his frail arms unable to hold her securely any longer. Propping his feet on the footstool, Bruce stretched out on one of Balashov's easy chairs, getting comfortable enough to settle in for the evening. He listened as Balashov talked of the past, of his wife whom he hoped to see again soon, of friends and family long dead. As he talked, Balashov kept his eye on Helena who lay against Bruce's chest, smiling at her expressions.

Sometime in the night, they all fell asleep until Bruce woke to Selina's soft touch on his arm. At her expression, he startled, worried about the cause of the unshed tears in her eyes.

"Selina?" He asked, his hand going to Helena's back to hold her against him.

Selina looked toward Balashov and Bruce immediately saw what was wrong. He handed a still sleeping Helena to Selina and went to Balashov's still form. With his wife's picture cradled against him, the old man had passed in his sleep.

"He looks happy," Selina whispered.

Hours later, the owner of the building bustled in gleeful for the chance to sell off the belongings that no one would claim since Balashov had no friends or family. Save for Bruce and Selina. Bruce, towering over the landlord, forbade the man from selling off Balashov's possessions to disinterested parties. The thought of strangers dismantling and taking Balashov's precious possessions rankled.

"What are you going to do with this stuff?" Selina asked him later. She stood in the doorway watching as he carefully boxed the remnants of Balashov's life.

"Send them home," he replied as he considered his use of the word 'home'. He hadn't thought of Gotham as home in a long while.

Selina left him then returned a few minutes later after leaving Helena with Zetseva. Without talking, they worked together, the sadness of their task overshadowing their earlier estrangement.

"I know what you're thinking. What I've allowed you to think," Selina said after almost an hour of silence.

"What?" Bruce asked, absently. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, with his back to her, packing the framed photos that had covered the wall into a box.

"That your daughter's mother was a whore."

His heart stilled at her words that filled the silent room.

"Bruce, there's plenty about me that, believe me, you'd rather not know about but…" She paused as she moved to sit in front of him on the floor. "That's one illegal activity I never engaged in."

A burden that he had been carrying shifted. He focused his gaze on the photo in his hand, a happy picture of Balashov and his wife at their wedding.

"Don't look so relieved," she said, her anger returning. "I don't know why it is that because a woman sells her body to earn a living that makes her unworthy of basic human decency."

"That's not it, Selina!"He snapped, looking away from the photo to meet her angry eyes. "I understand why that happens and the desperation that drives someone to do that. It's the desperation that I hated imagining you living in."

"Oh," she said, turning her gaze to the photo in his hand. "I didn't mean to...There's some things that are difficult to say."

"Selina, that, I understand," he said, gently, as he took her hand.

"I know you do," she said, meeting his eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath. "When I was a kid, we lived in the Narrows. My parents left me alone all the time. I think I was alone more than I was with them. Then Angela and her son moved next door and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Angela was…she was more of a mother to me than my mother. She was also a drug addict and a prostitute but I didn't know that was unusual."

She smiled at him, the kind of smile that showed she was okay even if her voice trembled.

"She was there for me when I really needed a mother. She wasn't a hooker with a heart of gold by any means. She was tough and if anyone messed with her or those she protected, she would beat you down. When I was thirteen, she was murdered by one of her John's."

Her eyes dulled and her voice hardened as she continued her story.

"The cops responded by making crude jokes about the whore who was stabbed to death. I can remember them laughing." She shook her head as if to banish the sound of that laughter. "She made some really bad choices but she didn't deserve to be murdered and ridiculed like she was nothing. So, I get a little upset about men who get away with killing women because society has deemed those women as unimportant. I won't apologize for what happened to that guy and I can't pretend that I feel bad about it. He deserved exactly what he got."

Bruce had neither the inclination nor the heart to debate the ethics of killing killers. He was just content that she hadn't done the deed herself.

"Did they ever catch the guy that killed Angela?" He asked.

"You're assuming they looked for him," she replied with a disgusted expression, then stood. "I need to get the baby."

"But, no, they never found him," she said, quietly, from the doorway. With a small, sad smile, she went to get Helena but soon returned bringing their daughter and her Moses basket. She and Bruce spent the rest of the evening packing and by the time of the funeral, the apartment was bare.

"Let's go," Bruce said as he surveyed the empty apartment.

Holding Helena close, Selina nodded, as eager as he to leave the small city.


End file.
